The warning of sorts, “Permanent Marker,”
Etched on the side of Sharpies
Terrifies her now, but
It was not always so.
She recalls how happy and proud she was,
Before the start of kindergarten,
Helping mark her belongings with her initials,
With a marker that promised permanence.
It was the start of a tradition
That faded out when she cannot recall.
The idea of permanence is discomfiting,
Of smudges, scrawls, and marks
That cannot be eradicated, disturbing.
She imagines a once blank piece of white paper
Besmirched with a picture of herself,
Composed with a black permanent marker
That captures her chaos within.
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