I’m not feeling much like Poetry today so I decided to do some stream of consciousness writing. I’m doing some internal work confronting closet ghosts I have and maybe this might help me with the archeology of self.
Almost halfway through this life
Not quit middle age – I hope
The impression of the past reads like a novel in my brain
What is true? What is fabrication? What is missing?
Was that really my life,
Or a dream,
Looking back I try to recall
I wish I hadn’t burned my diaries
Angst filled memories ..
Written with my own hand.
When I set them on fire I didn’t want to remember.
Now I wish I had something to help me fill up the holes in my memory bucket.
Even if they were tinged with my ego filled ranting.
Memories forgotten, conveniently
Or erased with methodical precision?
I created a fantasy world when I was young
Spent some time living a lie;
Or multiple lies as I grew a little older.
Today I live truth every single day.
Now I want to confront those Baby Swiss memories and piece together
Does it really matter?
So much can happen in a decade….10, 20, 30,