(I’m just using this prompt to get an idea down, so the poem has nothing to do with it.)

Sometimes I feel

Like a pencil

With no eraser

I’ll scribble down

My words

Only to see the wrongs later

I say and do

Things without thinking

Hopeing I don’t do something I shouldn’t have

Then when I later look

And see what I’ve done

Do I realize the wrong

And when I realize

I try to erase

And fix what I’ve done

But my words have already

Been inked over

And there’s no going back