Some days, writing feels less like invention and more like eavesdropping—a voyeuristic glimpse into lives that desire to be written. I start a story, and suddenly the characters seem to understand themselves better than I do.

“My Untold Story” is my attempt to capture that strange magic and the melancholy of leaving stories unfinished. It came from that space between control and release, where stories linger just beyond the page.

My Untold Story

I sit alone,
pen in hand,
ideas running down the page.
Dreams await in subtle nuance;
I escape.

Characters unfold
with every word.
Trees grow homes for birds
beneath painted skies above.

I wonder
if their lives
will meet their expectations.
Will their children bloom
with rosy faces
in my untold story?

Framed pictures on the wall
make me feel ten feet tall,
in lives so small
where scandal waits.

Move away,
your feelings held at bay,
captive to my writer’s block.
Will good things come,
or will horrors linger down the block?

I wonder
if their husbands
vent their frustrations.
Will their lives
lead them to strange new places
in my untold story?

The last page nears,
where plots descend
and riddles blur.
I held off as long as I could,
and now it all feels right.

The overarching tone lies heavy
on the lives I’ve brought to bear,
while surgeons hold
their god complexes near.

I wonder
if their sorrows show
on tear-streaked faces.
Will their time on earth
leave lasting traces
in my untold story?

My untold story.
My untold story.