twig (POETRY JUMPSCARE V.2)

i can't help it

your words get stuck in my head like popcorn shells between my molars

like a pick that fell into the belly of an acoustic guitar

it might be my weakness

the way you look at me makes me sick like the smell of licorice

like the feeling of strands of hair in my clothes after a barber visit

i might be cowardly

i would rather bend for you than break for everyone

like a green twig in the hands of a cub scout

i would like to forgive

if i could only forget first