The Act of Looking Back
A Story Of The Unknown Poet

Unknown poet trying to be perfect
I try to be the perfect poet, but somehow it never works. I try to be the perfect writer, and my story is always bleak. I wish I knew what made them happy: maybe my life would seem like more than just a random scribble.

The poet said it wasn’t hard. He said that happiness’s just a choice: If you want to be with them, you can choose to be happy.
But my brain won’t let me be satisfied with so little; my mind lacks the strength to hold the answer. I want someone to tell me what’s wrong. I want to know: how do I make them happy? I’ve never found the answer, but I’ve never stopped trying. Trying to be perfect isn’t easy, and it never will be. But I’ll keep trying because that’s what I do. I’m the Unknown Poet, and this is my story.

However, I have found that if I keep my eyes open, I can stay above water. I am the Unknown Poet, and I live my life with open eyes. If you want to know more, you can follow me.
It has been said that Youth is a dream. What could be better than being Young? I am young, and the future bleeds from the present into something more! My eyes are wide open now. Don’t close them at night. What could go wrong? We are still young, even if we have ten thousand years more to live. Let’s not waste them on gloom and doom. I want happy thoughts rolling like waves of golden sand in my head — the joy of being alive will take us all right until the end.







