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.