Flashes 

Like flipping through 
a photo album in my brain
my mind flashes
through all the places from
before.
Some good.
Some bad.
Some so ugly 
I want to 
squeeze
the memories 
out of my head
so they won’t be mine anymore.

I love the simile of memories being like a photo album in my mind, and the desire to squeeze the memories out of my head so they wouldn’t be a part of my identity anymore. As a poem, I like it very much. As a page in my novel, it was redundant and perhaps the voice was out of step with my character.