Writing

I…

…stare at a blank page wondering what to say. I don’t have anything that important to say. I’m being honest. My thoughts are locked away deep in my head. I don’t want to say them because I don’t want to let them out. I don’t want to let them out because I’m afraid that someone will read them. I’m afraid that someone will read them because I don’t want them to read my thoughts. Some of my thoughts weren’t meant for others to read and when I write them down (just to get them out of my head), I’m terrified of their discovery. I’m terrified of my words being used against me. They were written in a burst of emotion, not meant to be read and taken seriously for who I am permanently.

I…

don’t know what to say half the time. I want to make a statement, to say what’s on my mind, but I always end up looking like an idiot. I look at my words and I know someone will make a commentary, the devil’s advocate. I didn’t come here for a discussion. I came here to let my thoughts and emotions out in the air. I don’t care if you don’t agree with me right now, I just want a statement. I want to be acknowledged that my thoughts matter without anyone trying to get me to see it another way. Why can’t I just say what I want to say without someone saying what’s on their mind in order to demoralize, deteriorate my thoughts? But that’s just me.

I…

get tired a lot. I get tired of trying too hard for little results. I get tired of waking up early and staying up late. I’m tired of being a couch potato when I can’t get motivated, watching t.v. shows on DVD for hours on end. But I do it anyway because it’s too cold outside to do anything more, too miserable to do anything but watch movies and catch up on the shows that I’ve always wanted to see. But that only occurs when it’s a wintry cold out without much outside to do.

I…

wish I wasn’t pushed into writing all the time. I wish I didn’t have someone on my back about it constantly. I feel like they’ll never relent. I don’t want to write anymore and yet it keeps going…going…going. I don’t want to be professional anymore. I don’t want to be published. Why does it even matter? Does it matter if my interests in creativity have changed? I’d rather appreciate other people’s work than write it myself. Just say.

I…

am me.

I…

will do/write/work/play/whatever I want.

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