Seems like we both decided to come back in 2020, glad to see you around and posting. :)
I think this poem encompasses everything that being a poet means. Once a poet, always a poet. No matter the silence and the frustration. No matter the tediousness of writers block and forcing that ink down. It always comes back and it's always a part of you, even if it comes back infrequently. That's what the last line meant to me anyway.
I love how poetry makes us reflect. Not just as a reader, but also as a poet. I got that sense from reading this poem.
I love how unique your voice is - how much you can say in three lines. Coming back to this, the introspection, perhaps the familiarity. The poetry of just existing, of realizing we are made of dust and memories and "scratches" yet can still be "us".