I am creative in a way I cannot prove. It is unacceptable to approach a stranger and declare:
“I lay awake at night, almost always.
I take the burden of the universe upon my shoulders each evening before I can sleep and when I awake it is still there.
I want to grasp ahold of life and shake out its secrets but grasping anything is for me impossible.
I understand too much and talk too much and believe too much.
I am socially awkward and have a hard time responding to things.
I overanalyze and speculate.
I care very deeply about many things.
I cry much too easily.
I want love so badly I can’t breathe sometimes.
I want someone to peer into me and see my messy contents and be okay with it.
People have described me as coolheaded but inside I am enraged and inarticulate.
I cannot explain my exact feelings in words, so I peck at the keys and hope that a story emerges.
I am embarking on a brand new adventure and I am terrified.”
They would run from me in fear, if I said such things.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
A million ways to say one thing.
Maybe one feeling fractured into a million emotions.
Or perhaps the other way around.
I am scared.
I am so terribly frightened.
That I’ll fail--seemingly legitimate, yes?
Fear of failure stops even the surest of hearts.
But I am not sure. I am not strong.
I am the weakest of the weak.
I do not know whether to continue in my fear,
or bask in my pride.
Both are poisonous
but a middle line
seems
like
a
tightrope.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Words flow out of me
like rivers,
like rainbows,
splashing colors across pages
and illustrating the nooks
of my brain
that don’t bear explaining.
Asking for permission,
for justification,
asking for answers.
No spark behind their eyes,
no understanding.
Venting my frustration,
only blank looks in return.
I retreat to my lines
and my ink,
scrawling,
not bawling,
saying,
not letting my heart
go unspoken.
Not this time.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC