Early Writings

By the age of eighteen I was a goodlooking fellow
But, awkward and sometimes scary as a leech.

I was trying to make sense of myself,
Eventhough I was drinking, taking drugs,
And wearing a mask to hide my self.

Six feet high
A dreaming eye

I remember some snippets of my early poems.
I wrote them in a pocket sized black book.

I remember I thought of suïcide and of death
in a poem that was titled

Soon to Come

My poems were not meant for others
For people to read, I thought.
I didn’t show them to anyone,
The poems I wrote during my depression.

They were not inspirational.
It wasn’t meant to move or touch other people’s hearts.
It was simply how I communicated
In my loneliness, and in my pain.

It was something I made that felt true.
In the stillness it gave me solace,