They say as you get older you find yourself, but I am noticing that for me the exact opposite is true. I knew myself better at seventeen, maybe even fourteen, before other people got to me and tried to change my mind. Before life got out of hand. I used to adore anything ancient. I used to feel the steadiness of the earth below my feet. I used to want a million things. But I guess it turns out I only want a story. Sing me a song, Muse. Tell me a story. Why, and how, and who. Give me action, love and hate, and strife, good old Eris, and ecstasy. Give me Hermes and Dionysus and Gaia. Give me art that reflects myself in eyes as big as souls. Archeology needs to see the ruins to believe that Troy existed, but I believed before, I always believed in the story.
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Poetrysuppose Truth was a woman... * * * A collection of poems & thoughts about life and death and everything in between. * * * Disclaimer: Everything you read here was collected directly from my notes and journals, so please excuse any excess passion or...