"When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am…" –Maya Angelou
I know the reasons why;
I know the fear that drives me.
If you leave, then I will cry
But if you stay, then it will blind me
I know the reasons why;
I know the weakness that’s inside me.
I’ve learned well to be shy
But to be seen is so enticing
I know the reasons why;
I know the sorrow that defines me.
I couldn’t tell you why I cry
But I know it’s why I change myself so desperately.
I have no dearest friends;
I’ve got no darling love.
Oh I was sent from somewhere,
But I don’t think it was above.
See, I know my only future;
And I am my only seer.
You might tell me I can change me,
But that means nothing here.
All I know is silence;
All I know is endless time.
If the only change is violence,
Then I guess the violence will be mine.
“Forever and always”
Was the promise never made;
It was lost somewhere in rage and fear,
Where everything that should be dear
Is allowed to be waylaid,
Hoping to prove that maybe love
Is not just another form of trade.
I cup it in my hands
And stare into the waters;
In it I see just what I am,
And whatever hope I had falters.
One long drink
Is all that it would take
To forget the whole thing,
Erase every mistake.
Every empty memory,
All the anger and the ache:
Drink, and I am free;
Drink, and in a blissful dream I wake.
All that is a part of me,
Everything that’s wrong;
My entire life’s identity
Will finally be gone.
So to drink, or not to drink
Of the darkly river waters?
I hesitate, I think;
But what to do when hope still falters?
Tell me, can you read my palms?
Can you describe my life to be?
Will you show the rises and the falls,
And explain away my mystery?
Tell me, can you see my soul?
Can you describe it, what you see?
What color, if it’s there at all,
And won’t you explain what it all means?
Tell me, can you sense my pain?
Can you describe my remedy?
Will I meet him in sunshine or rain —
Or, is it not my destiny?
You saw me angry.
Before, only smiles and laughter;
And now, finally,
You’re consumed by my fire.
But you don’t see
What comes later,
When it’s just me
And I’m feeling empty:
For you saw my burning eyes, sir;
And now my eyes spill all my water.
I feel like porcelain,
With my fragile knees all shaken;
I fretfully will try to please,
And with a doll I’m oft mistaken.
A frail trophy of finer things;
A little princess with her painted wings.
Admired only through the glass,
And only through the glass, admiring.
Oh, to be turned again to flesh and blood!
To feel against my cheeks the flood;
And live the days of all the weeks
To the fullest I possibly could.
But I am just the faint of heart;
Try me, and I fall apart.
Buy me, but I’m just to see,
And only as a work of art.
Is this how such things begin?
“Oh, it’s just a chance thing.
Maybe he’s met a girl…
Or has some other reasoning.
He’s been staying out later…
Maybe helping someone out?
That’s fine; I just wish
I knew what he was about…”
The hours tick by;
It grows later than it should.
You hate it, but you wonder
If he might be gone for good.
It must be all those crime shows:
They’re getting to your head.
He’ll be there in the morning;
You should simply go to bed.
But, what if he isn’t?
You’ll stay up ’til he’s in;
All the while dreading
This is how such things begin.
You walk beneath the clouds;
You look up towards the sky.
When the rain is pouring down,
Only then are you alright.
When the wind is all around you,
And only lightning shows the sky;
When none of them can find you
And don’t care much about why:
Then the beauty of the world
Is torn out from the lies;
And the fury of the tempest —
It echoes in your eyes.
You are the wind, you are the rain,
You are the lightning in the sky.
You are the daughter of storms;
And in this life, a passerby.
Hello there, little star:
I see in you a light;
A hope, in your presence,
To rival the daylight.
I wish upon my star;
For you are my great delight,
And it is your very essence
That is my strength to fight.
Writer In Retrospect 