I’m thin, but my weight can tire you
I was once long, but now sharpened,
I’m suitable for a finger’s grip.
I’m pointed, hardly weaponry,
but sharp enough and potentially
I’m a portal, temporary, yes,
whose produce is lasting, if you so chose.
I, a poem, can be easily erased but my
residue tells of mistakes
gone before me.
Prompt: Write a poem entitled “Like ________ “
Today’s Writing Setting: Sitting on the bed, by the computer, scribbling in the notebook after the webpage I was typing on refreshed randomly (and lost the poem).