Strong (old poetry)

 

I like to believe I am strong
sometimes
not as weak as the exterior
wills me to be.
in my fantasy world,
I hold my own,
know where I am going,
where I have been.

the key is simplicity
and in my dream
everything
is simple.
I don't hide behind
the pen.

The very same pen
that has brought me such joy,
as well as the continuous burden of sorrows.

no,
not in the world where I am strong.
In this world,
there are no feelings to be
hurt,
and I am no longer
the shape
I once was
hiding behind the letters.

I stand tall,
and proud. For once
I have all the answers,
for once I know
what it feels like to be
the true
me. And not
the one behind the ink.

No one knows this self I have become.

But did I
become,
or have I always
been?

So deep inside
I realize, no one knows
me,
as I am
and how I push myself to be.
Not even me.

Once again
the dream is over
and I am behind the pen.

I am not strong,
but,
I like to be pretend to be.