And I always say
that people don't know me
and that they don't know my story,
but the truth is
I don't know myself, too.
Who am I?
What have I become?
Where is the girl I was?
If she could see me now,
would she be proud of me?
If that girl could hear me,
would she understand these thoughts?
If that girl could meet me,
would she leave me, too?
And I suddenly wonder
who will I be a year from now?
Will I be able to fix these shits?
Will I still write?
Will this fire within me still exist?
Will I remain to be
J ust
A
N obody
D ealing with an
I ndecipherable world?
Or will I choose
to stay in my own little universe
and fight these deathless demons alone?
without pen
without paper
without being heard
- Jan Di
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In Dreams, We Find Our Rhymes
PoetryWell, I just can't describe my poems better than how this piece of mine describes them. 🌠 "What My Poetry Is Made Of" I am not someone who has rich vocabulary. My phrases, my clauses will always be ordinary, so I just use the simple words that I...
