Sitting here

Writing these words

I am suddenly hit by the realization

That you will never know that these are for you

You will never read these words

Never read my heart

My mind

My inner turmoil

You will never read the confusion inside of me

The struggle of trying to find myself

The conclusion of one thing

The doubt

The decision that it doesn't fit me

The starting again

The moment I realize I'm lost again

What is a word to describe someone?

There are so many

Yet I don't know what fits me

Except for one

Confused

I realized that you will never read this story of my confusion.

I realized that you will never know what you do to me

I realized that you will never learn the truth

Because I myself don't know it

And I don't want to tell you anything

Until I am certain

But that might never happen

So you will never know.

But if you will never know

If you never read these poems for you

Then why am I writing them?

Maybe it's just a way for me to process my thoughts

But in the end, I don't know what to do with these

Piles and piles of poems

I kept writing

Because of you.