I’m slowly progressing but progressing nonetheless. The worst thing I could do is give up on myself. The worst thing I did this week was give up on myself. Sometimes dreams delayed feel like dreams denied. If you asked how I’m holding up and I responded by saying “I’m okay” then chances are I probably just lied. Everyone’s caught up in their own world, if you don’t see me tomorrow then know that I tried. I’m sorry I don’t want to bother or burden anyone with my problems. I know you’ve never seen me cry but I can no longer hide all that I’m feeling inside. Some people suffer in silence because of self-importance and a little bit of pride. But that’s not me, I put my heart on paper and I let it all bleed. But lately I’ve come to realise that not everyone likes to read. So I ask myself, who am I writing all these resplendent poems to?