In time, I will be remembered by a password-protected document of my writings. In time, I may never be known by this ridiculous document.
In time, I will learn more about me from my writings.
In time, I will deny all of it. I already do both.
When writing steps out from me, its colors are like tender flesh, not yet cultured by the skin of conditioning.
Conditioning stops us from being stupid, masochistic, and victimized by our whims, and sometimes makes us all of the above. But
Conditioning empowers me, and I look upon detachedly at ridiculous rhymes that should pass for ‘A Novel’, not inner voices of poetry.
Indeed, I should have been a poet-actress. All this drama! But
this is what I wrote before i thought about it.