As I sit here, staring at the blank page before me,
Looking at the blank white wall and outside windows to the horizon before me,
Hearing the soft, melodic sounds of music,
Listening to the thump, thump of my heart,
Wondering what I should write.
How can I pour my soul out on this paper not even knowing who I really am?
People have many perceptions of who they think I am.
They think I am smart and quiet,
While not knowing who I really am at all.
I know that I am a dreamer, a lover, and all over the place at times.
While still not knowing who I really am at the same time.
Sometimes feeling trapped inside of myself,
Wanting to break free out of me,
Pounding, slamming, with emotions running through me,
Just trying to find out how I can be me.