BURN (Wattys2015?)

museums and trashed masterpieces

i have often wondered what it'd be like

if i cleared my name of all these searing words?

what if i deconstructed this chaotic mess

of feelings and mistakes?

i want to put the past behind me--

i want to bury the hatchet six feet under--

but instead,

i feel as if the hatchet is buried in my own back,

as long as this trash exists

but then i remember

they keep the swords of great battles and evil men

locked up in glass cases

for tourists to breeze by and not think too much about it,

except they'll turn to their children and say,

"look, little johnny, that is what a bad man did"

to teach little johnny what bad men do

maybe all these burning sentences can be like that

locked up in dusty museums for people to not think too much about

except turn to their children and tell them of the awful things i have done

so their children learn that my footsteps aren't meant to be followed

i will keep these fraying pages tied up

bound by my own hatred for the words i wrote

because i can look back and remember how far i've come

and how far i still must go

and maybe you can look at it too

and not repeat history's mistakes

and learn something perhaps