Dec 2024
i’ve taken up journaling.
spilling my feelings between thin lines and smudged ink.
although, my words are not articulate enough.
i don’t describe my feelings in a way that is poetic or neat, it is only human.
who am i preforming for?
if only my soul is to read these pages,
why must i put on an act?
why must my words of melancholy, rage, and hopefulness be reworked.
a beautiful home, without a foundation.
spilling my feelings between thin lines and smudged ink.
although, my words are not articulate enough.
i don’t describe my feelings in a way that is poetic or neat, it is only human.
who am i preforming for?
if only my soul is to read these pages,
why must i put on an act?
why must my words of melancholy, rage, and hopefulness be reworked.
a beautiful home, without a foundation.
i’ve been writing a lot and no matter what i do i can’t stop telling myself that my journal entries could be better. i go back and fix them, reword them. its strange.
