I don't want to write about love or beauty
I don't even know if I want to write about truth
my past is filled with unreliable narrators
and hazy bits of memories and thoughts

they tell us in school to write what we know
but even what is known is unknown
and even things I have seen I can't believe
blanks in memory filled in subconsciously

sometimes my brain reconnects the dots
and it feels like I'm remembering all the bad
all the things I never wanted to see again
especially not right before I fall asleep