You can't be afraid of the truth
She whispers this to me sometimes
She pushes from inside my rib cage
Gliding me towards the cliff
Towards boldness I don't possess
I fall over the edge screaming
But she pulls the string to my parachute
Just as I feel the jump's caress
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This thing inside, this spirit that consumes you from within like a relentless tyrant... it pushes one to envision you as split in two. An aria of melodic joy on the surface, constricted and bound by illusions of perfection strewn with the underlying imperfection. Yet also a (to quote you) bold muse that wants freedom. And the whispers that hover within my own ears as I read this poem hide a subtle tone of treachery. At least your inner muse provides a parachute to ease the fall.