anti-confessional
if you read my journal
you’d be even more confused
where my poetry comes from
in my own mind
I never should have lived
beyond the age of eighteen
either by kismet or my own hand
or that of another
once leaving the house I grew up in
it was never my home again
yet for some undefinable reason
I kept going back
in my journal there is theft & murder
illicit drugs & foreign intrigue
while between the lines you may find
lavender irises
and little yellow songbirds
in my poetry
indeed there may be more of the same
though none of it comes close
to my own reality
may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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