I lie in bed and write poetry all day
It’s a secret, don’t tell anyone, don’t let word stray.
Sometimes it’s my reality and other times, it’s my deepest fears
But I can’t confess to my forbidden lover really existing or ever wanting to drown in my own bucket of tears.
Please don’t ask me what’s true and what’s fake,
I may curl up and fall apart in my own dismay, until my eyes begin to ache.
I stand in the shower and create lyrical poetry
That’s how I get through 10 minutes trapped in that tiny tiled dungeon –
The only way I can express my fears openly.
I try to look for similarities between the water engulfing my frail physical frame,
And the fear that overcame me the last time I called out his name.
Please don’t ask what happens when I forget parts of the poetry I created in that moment,
I may end up trembling with fear and never get the courage to put words on paper again.
I lie back in bed and attend to my half written works of art all night long
There are so many incomplete pieces, so many incomplete songs.
The type I can’t sing out loud,
It’s my own creation, shouldn’t I be proud?
My mind harbours chunks of incomplete prose,
Multiple unfinished thoughts.
Please don’t ask me why I can’t finish those,
I may end up with a heart beating fast and my stomach all tied up in knots.