I can't seem to write when I'm in the "state of unknown"
When I have nothing hugging my waist,
Or tugging my chest,
Or weighing my feet.
I don't know know what there is to write about really.

When I write,
I bleed, I cry, I pour my heart out
Whether I am diving into the lake of infatuation,
Or I'm drowning in the river of despair.
It allows me to be vulnerable with my words,
It gives me the key to unlock new characters,
Extreme characters.
Characters that unravel letters and create anecdotes
Or raw feeling.

In my theatre,
It's me.
It's me and only me talking
Crying, reacting, feeling all there is to endure.
I have motives for my characters and for my poetry.

But in my state of unkown,
I don't know how to feel
Or what to expreas
And my monologue turns to a dialogue
With out her people influencing my character
My state of unknown doesn't let me know
If I am happy, or content, or lonely
Whether I should be thankful or hopeful
Do I stop to smell the roses or do I go on a quest for new adventure?

My state of unknown begs me to ask the question'
"Am I really a writer?"