Josh Turns To Me. “i Can’t Believe

That’s What I Love About Poetry. The More Abstract, The Better. The Stuff Were Your Not Sure What The Poets Talking About. You May Have An Idea, But You Cant Be Sure. Not A Hundred Percent. Each Word, Specifically Chosen, Could Have A Million Different Meanings. Is It A Stand-in ―a Symbol For Another Idea? Does It Fit Into A Larger, More Hidden, Metaphor? ...i Hated Poetry Until Someone Showed Me How To Appreciate It. He Told Me To See Poetry As A Puzzle. Its Up To The Reader To Decipher The Code, Or The Words, Based On Everything They Know About Life And Emotions.

And What About You-the Rest Of You-did You Notice The Scars You Left Behind? No. Probably Not. Because Most Of Them Can't Be Seen With The Naked Eye.

Josh Turns To Me. “i Can’t Believe She’s Writing These Things.” “not She,” I Say. “me.” “why Would Anyone Say This Stuff About Themselves On The Internet? It’s Crazy!” “exactly,” I Say. “i’m Going To Be Mentally Ill In Fifteen Years, And That’s Why My Husband Doesn’t Want To Be Around Me.

I Hope You're Ready, Because I'm About To Tell You The Story Of My Life. More Specifically, Why My Life Ended. And If You're Listening To These Tapes, You're One Of The Reasons Why.

You Can't Go Back To How Things Were. How You Thought They Were. All You Really Have Is...now.