This poem came to me, hinking about trying to change your thinking, the feeling that when thinking of how to chaange your feelings, it makes it feel fake, feels unreal and lose yourself through it in the process.
Editing the mind, getting over things
Deleting parts of the mind, parts of you,
A good idea in theory,
Bad in practice,
Every thought you delete,
Every scrap of paper you throw away.
You lose a bit of yourelf with every bit.
A bit of you dies inside every time.
What happens when every bit of you is gone?