Now as an adult, it seems as if it rains forever.
I'm pretty good at making the most out of a draining situation, but the last 4 months or so have just taken a toll on me. My mental and emotional state seem shaky and my weight has slightly gone up. I don't know what any of it means, but it seems neverending as of late.
I know that there's a silver lining to my cloud, because I can feel it.
Anyway, it's the strangest thing to be honest. I didn't want to write about anything for a little bit of time and now I want to write about everything. But that's not what makes it strange. The other day, I wrote a two page poem titled "The Hood" and once I was done, I realized that I didn't want to share it. I'm noticing that a lot lately with many of my other poems that I have written in the last few weeks; that I don't want to share them. I don't want people to see them or read them even. I almost feel compelled to keep them from myself. Now THAT'S strange.
It could be that I don't like the way that it was written, or the style that I used, or the tone that I used, or even the amount of truth that I used. Hmm... Maybe it's the amount of truth because as I get older, with every poem that I write, the more "truth" I put into it. Not just "truth" either, a cold hard slap into reality. My Reality. And because they are my poems, the reader is the one being slapped by my words. My outlook on, well, everything...
I am seriously not sure that anyone, not even myself, is truly ready for that outlook yet...
