Alternate // Reality

the memories left etched into my skin 
are the only ones i’m sure to remember
when i’m pissing on that fire
or riding faster than i ‘should’i
at least i know—this is happening

i am real because i am alive

when the engine cuts out
or i run over that nail
my heart sinks 
that’s the last thing i feel

back into the hazy glow of my memory bank
go my feelings 
storing themselves away 
into secret little spots 
all over my body

instantly, i’m question the validity of my experience—
forever seeking out only those experiences
that are rare + unbelievable to begin with
my whole existence feels unbelievable to me
as if most of it happened to someone else

i’m having trouble remembering who i am + what i care about
because too often when i think back
about my own life
all i hear are other people’s voices

when i write about my experiences
i feel pressure to tell the truth—
the whole truth and nothing but the truth
[[so help me GOD]]

that’s when I used to stop writing
for fear of accidentally bending the truth
due to the automatic predictions of my brain

i’m learning to accept that
i can’t always say what the truth is
because i’ve always lived in an alternate dimension
—a separate reality

many years later, i understand that
i’m not meant to be the truth bearer, 
but simply to know the truth of my own reality
while holding space for the truth in yours