This is my Heart

I started writing poems when I was young. About 6 or 7 years old. I fell in love with the written word, with books and poetry and songs.
I loved that it took you in another world. That these words could bring you back to a memory as if it were present, as if you could taste it and feel it all over again.
I loved that I could spill my heart out on paper and let it exist there when I couldn't let it live inside of me anymore.
I love that it can live, and breathe, and change people. Motivate, uplift, empathize, widen, and effect.
I used to write. I used to be good at it. I used to write a poem without having to try. It was like breathing.

But then something closed that door. It's been stuck.
Something is in the way, and although I have tried to open it, I've been scared to, shying away from what might jump out if I open it, like if it were

Pandora's box.
But the door is creeping open, slowly but surely. I'm not sure what will spill out, but here is where I will open it.
A ray of sunshine and clouds, and music and wind, and flight.
I will begin with a poem I wrote years ago, as a confused teen. I discovered it in and old notebook, and it spoke to me.

Many more poems will follow.

Directions

Does anyone have directions?
Does anyone know which way to go?
My life its so confusing
I don't know which way to turn

I'm a walking contradiction
I serve two masters
My head scream for leadership
But my heart is doomed to rule

Is there a right or wrong?
Or just a choice?
Do things happen for a reason?
Or is it our fault?

This confusion won't settle
There's never enough time
This life should have come with directions
'Cause I'm a blinded Captain without them.