The Truth about Poems

I won't talk about who I am
until the words are directed at no one,
words shouted into air no one dare breathes.
   
I am a good person,
but that doesn't mean I am honest.
I have lied about myself too many times to count.
   
but words offer
a way out
of a world of lies.
   
with my words,
I get to build doors and windows on the walls I have built around myself
that lead into meadows of fresh air.
    
sometimes,
I just need to breathe,
and writing bad poems finally allows me to.
    
maybe it was when we had to write poems for assignments that I found out.
maybe it was that I desperately needed to keep breathing after that I continued.
maybe I've been writing poems in my head since the day I was born.
   
writing bad poems is more than just self expression.
it's more than connecting to others.
writing bad poems and stringing words in my head together
   
allows me to breathe,
allows me to be honest.
it allows me to build portals into those meadows where I can be myself honestly.
 
It allows me to be myself without having to pretend I'm someone else.

This poem is about: 
Me

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