This is a poem describing the struggles between my writing and my identity that I have had to deal with for the past few months. My ability to write things down, the ability to vent and release through my language is something holy to me, and when it is difficult, I feel like a hostage in my own head.
I cannot write anymore
I cannot journal my feelings for the sake of my mind
I cannot analyze the words afloat in my tears
I cannot spin the phrases wandering around my thoughts into art as I once could
And so instead the words ferment inside of me
Turning the beauty into bitterness
Turning the only beauty I have ever seen inside myself
Into a horribly recognizable straight jacket
The words that once bounced off the tip of my tounge now choke me
I cannot breath over the silent screams of my unspoken dreams
And another speck of sanity is chased away by the words that now control me
This is who I have become
A writer overrun by her own sweetness, turned to venom inside of her veins
The leading actor forced into a supporting role in her own life story
A silent fly stuck on the wall that has been built inside her head
A hostage thrown in the back seat of the car she never knew how to drive.
