I can't speak.
Writing is the only way I can truly communicate.
I mess up my words, I say too much at one time.
The chaos that is forced out of my mouth never seems to come out right.
When my pen hits the paper, or my fingers hit the keys.
I am finally at peace.
The words pour out of me.
Maybe this is what it feels like to finally be free.
Even when I text, my words morph into a confusing mess, but when I write.
I finally won the war against myself.
Against my greatest fear.
Telling the world what I really want them to hear.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
I can't speak.
Writing is the only way I can truly communicate.
I mess up my words, I say too much at one time.
The chaos that is forced out of my mouth never seems to come out right.
When my pen hits the paper, or my fingers hit the keys.
I am finally at peace.
The words pour out of me.
Maybe this is what it feels like to finally be free.
Even when I text, my words morph into a confusing mess, but when I write.
I finally won the war against myself.
Against my greatest fear.
Telling the world what I really want them to hear.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
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