U make me believe

"I write down all my secrets
But i don't feel self-assured
I swallow them as soon as someone
Enters my bedroom door

There's something I need to say
But I'll wait
I'll wait for you

I'll get rid of the evidence
Of all the blood stains in my clothes
All of my self-injuries
I will let none of them show

There's so many things I need to say
And no one to say them to
But you

Because you
You take me
You make me
Believe

There's a crowd of vultures
That are tightening up the siege
They feed on the random lovers
That fall short on their beliefs

Well I won't fall short on my ways
I'll cross these storms through
For you

Because you
You take me
You make me
Believe

There's so many things i need to say
And i'll keep them until i get them through
To you

Because you
You take me
You make me
Believe..."

                            David Fonseca in Sing me something new

Blank space

My mind is blank as sheet of paper just picked out from the paper tray. I try to write but nothing comes out. Mixed feelings run through my head in a completely incoherent form. I type some words, build a phrase. I hate it. It is not what I want to say. But, exactly what do I want to tell people? Do I want to reveal the intimate details of my life, the ones that you only tell your closest friends? Do I want to “metaphorize” about the problems of day to day life? Do I want to dissert on the joys and bitternesses of love? I stop. Try to reorganize my ideas, but my thoughts still come out disconnected. What is happening to me??? I give up. Leave the writing and go do something else. Suddenly, like if a dam had been broken, a flow of coherent thinking rushes through my mind at 2000km/h. I run to the computer and try to type it all down. I write a couple of sentences. Shit! What seemed like some interesting text turns out to be another babbling amalgam of words, thoughts and feelings. I’m feeling frustrated. I’m going to bed. Maybe some sleep will do me good. Perhaps resting can bring back my writing mojo and…… I fall asleep. And I dream that maybe writing about life isn’t that hard after all. That maybe sometimes what we need to do is write things as they are and not as we’d like them to be or like we’d want the others to see them. I wake up. Another day is breaking and another post is written. Maybe some will read it, maybe not… but it feels good to be back.