What happens to me sometimes when I’m writing is a piece goes somewhere I’m not expecting it to. I can start off a poem with an intent, and then it goes in a different direction just because, which is fine, but that can result in the poem not being as personal to me as it would have been.
This poem is one of those; it went somewhere I wasn’t expecting, so it’s not actually close to my heart, and it’s not really what I’ve been thinking about; it just happened.
Partly, it’s also just nice to write without it being part of my novel, because I’ve been living that novel for the past four months, so to write a harmless poem that won’t go anywhere other than this blog is super refreshing.
Here it is!
“Us, Today”, a poem by me.
Writing letters we’ll never send,
Offering a hand
Staying up until sunrise,
Telling each other lies
All the while wanting more.
Each hiding behind a mask,
Wondering how long we’ll last
As fraud becomes our law.
Acting sweet and sour,
Switching personalities every hour
Because honesty is a bore.
Will we ever change,
Will we ever switch lanes
Or will we fake it until our smiles are sore.
Something that I’ve heard ever since I started this blog (though it hasn’t happened in a while) is simply, why? Why put in effort into something like this?
To put it simply (and to avoid rambling about how amazing words are): I write because I can’t not write. It’s one of the best things in the entire world. Things make sense when I write, and it’s what I want to do for the rest of my life.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a small poem like the one in this post or the most meaningful novel full of deep crap (I said crap; I literally can’t think of another word to put there, so it’s staying); writing will always do something in me. It will always spark something that I can’t ignore. I always want to write. I always want to make something sound more beautiful, I always want to write something new, even if it’s just a sentence.
I can’t not write.