No matter how hard I try
I cannot put what I really feel
down on paper.
You’d think that
something no one will ever read
(probably even me)
would allow free reign
to say what is really going on
inside my mind …
These thoughts and feelings,
my truths,
are there,
sometimes quiet, passive, dull.
Other times,
a maelstrom;
of anxiety,
of anger,
of regret,
of shame,
of loss.
And yet,
as I sit with my pen poised to write down my truths,
I am held back from writing what I need to say
and my words on the page
are empty,
meaningless,
passive,
dull.
And every day I vow to myself,
‘This will be the day I write down my truths.’
But not today -
maybe it will happen tomorrow,
or the next day,
or the next …
