My pulse quickens.
I hear your words.
How do I respond?
I don’t have the answers.
I don’t know what you expect.
Of my writings, you’re not fond.
Emotions displayed in extreme condition.
Overly exaggerated to make a point.
Bitterness and emptiness are only a thought.
Contemplating life in the sense of what to write.
Half of these feelings aren’t even my own…
So these are the truths you have bought?
I see the pain in other people.
I feel it as my own.
How do I explain what I do not understand?
Every word I think to use,
Every sentence falls apart,
Collapsing like castles in the sand.
Can you understand that I am alright?
Can you see me how I am?
Instead of relying on part fiction to tell you…
This is who I am in the sense of writing.
Expressing everyone’s emotions I see.
That doesn’t make everything written true…