Looking back through some of my old papers, I often find things I’ve written in the past. Sometimes, I feel as though they should stay there. But as time goes on, they give a better picture of who I am today and how I arrived here. I wrote this many years ago around 1995 I think. I had written poetry before, some of it will appear here later, but I regularly struggled with writers block. At the time I painted it onto a bottle after I had drunk the contents. I found the bottle a while ago and transferred it to paper. A picture will follow if I can find it again…
It seems I cannot write things
Till I’m down or even depressed
As when I try to do this
They make sense even less.
It seems I have to be hurting
Very deep down inside.
Unable to tell him things,
When so many times I’ve tried.
So when I try to write things down
My true feelings come out right.
Sometimes you know I wear a frown
And sit up alone at night
I sit here with pen and paper
Cramming words down on the page
It’s been like that for years now
And I thought it’s just my age
Other people will rant and rave
Or bottle things up for years
But how I feel is what I write
Mixed up with a few tears.