I have discovered something about myself. 
Should it be discovered or uncovered?
Rather than ask the questions I have in my head
To another person
In real time 
That could garner potentially hazardous consequences for the future
Of such a meek and budding relationship
As is any relationship on the brink
Of being anything more than it is
Where the two souls are alike
And amiss and a-twitter
Because they can’t seem to communicate
Even though one knows the other intimately in structure
But not in content
That is where the insecurity rises up
The fear that I can read the inner strings of his heart’s song
No, that can only be sung by you 
In the form of words, notes, tears
Many instruments have you
And many instruments have I

One of these instruments is through bravery
I can instigate a battle, I can
But just because I want to know the answer
And have the capacity to ask the question
Does not mean that it was mean to be inquired
Yet, anyways

Instead, I shall make it a story.
I constantly fear that my writing about what happens in my real life will make the people I love angry with me if they ever find out. That includes the content of this blog, the contents of my diaries, the contents of my plays, and some of my songs. Some are in code, some are poorly in code, and some are so exposed it’s like that moment you realize the pantsless dream you’re having is actually your wedding. Which is why they cannot be seen. 

But I seem to have forgotten something about myself. Let me remind myself, and you, dear reader, of what it is.
I, as my mother says, have a vivid imagination. 
I can predict the highest achievement 
And the most tragic defeat
The exhileration courses through my veins 
As sparks shooting through a cannon’s barrel 
Sometimes I am kept away by this electricity
I cannot hold it inside
I burst out with delight and force 
Somewhat haphazard in my release I will admit
And I maybe singe some of my constituents sometimes

Instead, strike that match onto the page
Rather than sending a burning arrow to another heart so soon.
Let the vivid imagination
The world that I long to create to be my own
Let it come alive in my stories 
Until those characters I am to play along with as myself
Arrive in my scene

Until then, all the drafts that could have been
Better yet, those that could still be

Advertisements