I used to be able to put my feelings into words, filling page after page in diaries.
At some point, I stopped writing in first person, telling my stories through “her” and other characters.
As I aged, I transitioned to exclusively writing poetry, hiding behind metaphors and ambiguity.
And now..
There is so much of me wanting to hide,
Yet so much of me spilling out in crimsons and violets.
I guard my inner life fiercely, and art tries to pull me out of this solitude, desperate for human connection.