Your Name

I tend to forget a lot.
I tend to forget where I put my things.
I once forgot where I put my phone, even though I’m just holding it.
I frequently forget where I saved the file I recently wrote.
I also forgot where I placed my pen after a long written prose.
I always forget what page I’m in, in a book I’m reading.
Bookmarks were left somewhere I don’t know.
Words easily drift away my mind, as I’m making this poem right now.
When I’m busy, my mind is in a chaotic shuffle.
Swirling and swirling, it left me baffled.
When I’m relaxed I forget a lot, too.
Remebering my tasks would take a day or two.

But what scares me is that, there’s one thing in my mind stuck and tattooed.
It’s like a note attached with the stickiest glue.
Wind can’t blew it, water can’t lick it, and I can’t unpin it.

And now I don’t know what this poem is about, too.