I haven’t written for a long while. I also harenewals-poemve issues when it comes to privacy protection. Most probably, it’s all in my head, but I feel unwell when plenty of people see what I do.

I stopped writing for another reason, of course. Privacy issues can be easily resolved when you use pen and paper. I simply stopped writing because I’m not immortal any longer. I lost my edge and the meaning of things I had in store to tell readers. My opinions don’t matter to myself even, let alone anybody else.

Personally, I was diagnosed with something I’d rather not talk about. My struggle moved to that line.

Having said all this, I don’t feel better and I don’t feel safer. Here are two small and rather badly written poems that made me feel I am about to enter poetry once more. After writing them, though, I hardly wrote one more. This is not the output I was used to. Therefore, I don’t consider it a come back to writing. I’m really sorry for that. Writing was one of my ways out. My resources are depleting.

The yellow stones of the facade across
Belie me of their ancientness,
Remind me of the cozy books
and kindly teachers.

Behind them – office sternness,
extroverts ruling,
and cold.

Three years after Brutal Minds
I get the courage to wake up,
start the journey back to myself,
and hope.

© soulmary, 2017

Author: soul mary

Writer, poet and reader