Or the bright light in the heart.
Some think we write about our pain
Or the pitch of joy that fling one about
Others believe we live in a fantasy of words
Or in a shallow of daydreaming.
That we have a world of dynamisms.
Which changes with time and gives one no identity.
That we dig through our fear and try to paint it as our courage.
That we are just the opposition of our true nature. We are confused but we blame it on lines
That little truth exist in us while others are the life of a troll
Some say we're beautiful in and out and all writes portrays our experience.
Noone but few never understand the mental anguish of seeing blankness.
While the entire of your vicinity speaks loudly
No one could see the pain that drags you into another realm while all are sound in rest
Noone could see fear that Scrabble the major of what your head whispers
None could see the swallowed word your pen refused to put down. How you turn the whole of the story and make it what the phobia demands.
There is a pain of a less sleep and there is a fear of a less truth.
There is a conflict of exposing and disclosing.
Poet: Olatayo Nickiwonder Iyanuoluwa
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