Friday, June 12, 2009


When I tell people why I write...they look at me like I'm insane.
Which I am...but that's beside the point, you know.

Most people see writing as a chore. "I don't know what to say!" "It can be used in evidence against me someday!" "What's the use?" "Only if I have to for school!"

I write for the sake of writing. Because if feels good. It's cheaper than alcohol. Definitely cheaper than a psychologist. And if someone doesn't like what I write, they can just stop reading.

vs me following them around yelling, for instance.

I wish that I could do some good with what I write. I dream of making a difference someday with the words that I put on paper (or on the screen, as the case may be).

Please don't read my stuff because you think you have to.
Please don't read my stuff because you think I might be talking about you. I might be...but I usually use pseudonyms, so don't worry.
Please DON'T read my stuff because you think I might be trying to send you some kind of subliminal message.

If it's important to me, I'll come right out and say it.
And if I have already popped right out and told you how I feel....THEN I write about it? Well, at least it ain't no surprise.

Had something on my heart last night.
It was very heavy. Won't bother to explain my whole theory about what causes these things. Suffice it to say that I just couldn't get it to leave. Couldn't shake it.

Is it important enough to start a "discussion" over?
Has it all been said before?
Would my saying anything change the situation?

in reality, probably not.

So I wrote. Old fashioned pencil and paper. Chose poetry style.
five pages later, I fell asleep.
But this time, it didn't work. It did. Doesn't bother me quite so much.

With no classes? Guess I just have too much time to think.
And too much time to hurt.
too much time alone.

Think I'll go take a nap...

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