For that poetry class, I had to pick a poem that "excites me." I chose this poem by Jack Kerouac, because there is something about it that perfectly describes how life is. We are all bones underneath what others see, and when we die the world keeps going. Also that part where it says "Books lie" is totally accurate, in my world. It's one reason I like to write: I don't have to tell the truth. Though when I write or talk about myself I try not to censor a thing, because I am a writer and the writer's don't lie about the truth, but they do create lies and cover up the truth.

I am confusing myself.