She told me to write So I did. But now I'm left in a pile of poems and prose That no one will ever get to read. Feeling more emotions than I have in years Too afraid to let them see that side of me. My lies are bigger than I am now So I walk in their shells Attempting to pretend that I know what I'm doing.
She told me to write Because what I make is beautiful That the way my words twist and contrast Make her interested. That my raw emotion speaks to her But she only saw my most prized pieces Would my average work disappoint?
She told me to write To let others see how I feel Express myself in a way That maybe they can comprehend And attempt to understand. But how can they possibly understand When I'm too afraid to show them What I actually feel like.
She told me to write To work towards being okay To continue putting one foot in front of the other Because it was the only thing keeping me alive. So I tried.