the sorrows of the past
are too heavy for my heart
the grievings of the present
are too wide for my mind
and the uncertainties of the future
are too big for my bones

so i write poems
i write songs
i create stories
that will never be told

because for a brief moment
i make the ugly
stand for its beauty
i make the difficut
strikingly easy

it is all a distraction
of what is going on
of what has been
and of what it will never be

my soul wouldn’t handle
if i gave it some thought
if i actually realized
the size of it all

and somehow
my soul doesn’t fit my body anymore
and i am trapped in a world
staring at what has become unknown