If you're a writer or an
artist,
then you'll know
what I'm talking about:

That moment when you're absorbed
in a masterpiece and furiously
tip your pencil

To use the other end

And all you make is a scratch
instead of erasing your
Mistake

Do you love the irony?

Or like me, do you hate how short
the life of a pencil
eraser is?

And yes, it helps you not to
fear failure,
when you know it'll be there
as your crutch

(Mine is close to its end and will
most likely die
by the end of this poem)

But we're supposed to learn
from mistakes,
and I think the pencil knows that
better than
I

And so there must be a
Cosmic eraser
That commits suicide
Too

An Artist who created us
And is loathe to fix
Our flaws

Because if you're an artist you know
What a happy accident
Is

And we are beautifully and
Wonderfully made

If you remember the Flood,
You see how His eraser
Ran out just
In time

And so we start again, but
Not completely—
It's called a learning
Experience

If you erase it, you'll plagiarize
Your past