I was never able

 to sing a song,

I would always

input words

that didn’t belong.

And while I thought

I might captivate,

It always ended in failure,

for my voice wasn’t great.

Realising I would never

be able to confess

I decided to try

another avenue to impress.

I picked up a pen

and let it lead me astray,

To rewrite me

memories of yesterday.

Back to a time

when I was young and naïve,

a web of lies

 I could easily weave.

My personal history

looks a lot brighter

now that I am

my own scriptwriter.

person uses pen on book
Photo by on


  1. It’s called healing… self healing anyway. The wounds of your soul accumulated from both ancient collective and contemporary personal history, to be able to move forward in your present self to a more beautiful and shining future…
    I dunno… guild your self in the armour of your ancestors, learn the lessons of family karma, and attempt to prevent inflicting those wounds upon your future generations.
    Maybe. Something like that. I think.

    Liked by 2 people

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s