Most people write with what they know. I only write with what is on my mind. Usually, when I am writing a poem, it’s actually going through my mind as I am playing a song. It has rhythm, beats, music. And I make it come alive in my head. My mind just goes to places when I write, and I dream.
I escape into another world, and sometimes it’s hard to come out of. These may be memories from the past, dreams about the future, or just something that is going on in my life right now…But the words I write, are twisted from what is or what could be the truth sometimes. Sometimes, I just write what I am feeling about that memory, or what I was feeling then.
Some feelings just stick with you. And you are paralyzed in that moment, until you can tell the exact truth. Some memories are blocked, and they come and go, but they portray hidden secrets that you don’t want anyone to know.
My secrets are invisible. My secrets can only be seen by me. You have to tear down my walls to see what I am seeing.
I’ve been fighting the urge to write a book. About what, exactly? Just memories that I have had…Just memories that carry on with me. I do not remember anything growing up until the age of 15. Where did the memories go before them? Why do I have them blocked? I have made up memories from what family has told me. I barely talk to them that much, and I know they tell me lies to make me feel better.
I am hidden in myself.
I am hidden into my lies.
The only one knows the truth is my half.
And yet again…this is just a poem…