If I stop writing, will it all just go away?
How can I see the truth behind my own eyes?
When I am struggling to find the truth on the paper in front of me?
If I stop writing will it all just go away?
Dust scatters across the blank paper,
Fable attempt to create a plot beyond understanding.
I fight the truth of who I am and later I sit and wonder why I can't find my way.
Forever fighting conformity, and yet I to conform.
In the end I still struggle to see where the begins and I end.
I search for myself in the write, and light;
I am not there.
I am hiding in the shadows forever searching for myself.
There in the dark I can finally see the truth the light hides from me;
That I am scared,
Afraid of who I might be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem