Ugh.

I want to scream out the words

That threaten to eat away at my mind

And my being, before there are

No edges left to chew and to consume.

So why is it that

I cannot bring myself to that which I need,

Why can I not write?

Is it that I tremble

To see my own soul?

Is it that I shiver

At words said through gentle fingertips?

Is it that I shudder

To think that the true me will flow

Unyielding

And mercilessly onto the permanent page?

 

But should I fear them?

Should I fear letting them go?

For if they do not reside,

Black against white,

Then they grow moist and they ferment

Into a fear that is morbid and macabre.

I would write, but to write would be

Disappointing.

I would remember, this is what I used to write.

In comparison my writing would be much

Different.

I would see how much I have changed, and I would

Despair.

They say there is always a choice.

What sort of choice is this?

 

Maybe this phobia is not even for me.

Opinions, they exist.

They are in people, and they are people.

On paper, words can be read.

On paper, words can be read.

If I write, I can write for those who do now know

The real me,

The me I became

The me I've become.

They do not know I changed, and they

Cannot see the disappointment they see

In me

That I see

In me.

What sort of choice is this?

 

Reviews

[Kat_BT]

Choose to love yourself
And let yourself be known
Be honest to yourself
and the only ones that matter,
Are the ones who love you no matter.
Choose to be true.
Choose to be honest.
You are who you are.
Names may not change, but personalities shape-shift.
Choose whether or not to be
true to yourself.
"It's about what's going on in our hearts. About seeing clearly the way life is and accepting it and being true to it, whatever the pain, because the pain of not being true to it is far, far greater." (The Horse Whisperer)

Words will mark who you are and who you were,
But who that is, is free to change.
They should not define who you are.
You define the words inside.
I'd say, let those around you love you for your perfections
and more importantly, your imperfections.
You are who you are, and that is most important to you.

Iloveyou. Write for yourself. No one else can make you.


Good Job writing this. I like the truth and exploration qualities of it. Its very good.