I Can't. You Can't Rewrite The Past.

Then Come To Realize That You're Making Mountains Out Of Molehills. Realize How Petty You've Become. Sure, It May Feel Like You Can't Get A Grip On This Town. It May Seem That Every Time Someone Offers You A Hand Up, They Just Let Go And You Slip Further Down. But You Must Stop Being So Pessimistic, Hannah, And Learn To Trust Those Around You. So I Do. One More Time.

And Everyone Knows You Can’t Disprove A Rumor.

That’s What I Love About Poetry. The More Abstract, The Better. The Stuff Were Your Not Sure What The Poets Talking About. You May Have An Idea, But You Cant Be Sure. Not A Hundred Percent. Each Word, Specifically Chosen, Could Have A Million Different Meanings. Is It A Stand-in ―a Symbol For Another Idea? Does It Fit Into A Larger, More Hidden, Metaphor? ...i Hated Poetry Until Someone Showed Me How To Appreciate It. He Told Me To See Poetry As A Puzzle. Its Up To The Reader To Decipher The Code, Or The Words, Based On Everything They Know About Life And Emotions.

This Time, For The First Time, I Saw The Possibilities In Giving Up. I Even Found Hope In It.

I Can't. You Can't Rewrite The Past.