Searching for the truth. All I feel is this unquenchable desire to create something beautiful. I don’t care if it’s a poem, a song, a painting, I just want to create something that expresses all of this life that I’m living. But everything has been said before, has been written before, has been thought of before. And I sit here trying in vain to create, create, create from my soul, but all I can think is what will people think? Is this good enough? Is this original? I feel like an amalgamation of all the experiences, people and places I’ve come across. Like if you stripped away everything that’s ever happened to me, there would be nothing left. Do I have a soul? Where is this stream of consciousness coming from? I don’t know. And I try to be okay with not knowing, but I don’t know if I am. I don't even know if I'm okay with not knowing if I can not know.

So in the meantime, I surf the web, look at beautiful works of art, and listen to music from decades long ago.  And I think that I’m changing, that I’m developing a clearer picture of who I am and who I want to be, but then I feel just as stuck as I did four years ago. Is this growing up? Because while I do hate the ignorance, the exclusiveness, the pettiness, I need the opportunities. I like to say I could live on my own, but I’m not ready for the jadedness, the financial problems, the 2.5 kids. I hate the restrictions, the normalcy, the surges of emotion, but I need the safety net. I like to act like I’m so wise about the world and the universe and everything, but the only thing I know is that I’m just as lost as everyone else. I’m so far from knowing the answers, I don’t even know the questions.

Or maybe I know the answers, I just don’t know how to implement them. Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe, as much I hate shoes and love being late, I’m a creature of habit as much as everyone else.  Maybe I know that I should be myself and not care what others say, spend my life helping others, that money isn't worth much in the end, that clichés of peace, love and happiness are what I really yearn for. Maybe everything they tell me is wrong. It all contradicts itself, really.
Be who you are.
             but adapt to your surroundings.
Listen to your parents.
                           but search for freedom.
Learn to be assertive.
                                          focus on serving others.
Fight for what you believe.
                                                 but strive for peace.
Fit in.
    Be  d i  f   f   e     r      e       n        t.
Cherish each moment.
                                                                but make responsible decisions.
Love everyone.
                                                                                but separate yourself from negative people
they say
so many "they"s
how many "us"

To the point where I simultaneously want to scream
And be ashamed of myself for fitting into a stereotype of the rebellious teenager, good girl gone bad, thinks she could change the world one day, gets herself depressed over problems that can’t compare to those everyone else is facing, but that’s part of why she’s depressed in the first place.

So I guess it’s all about balance. Finding the right combination of the spiritual and the physical, the senses and the thought, the good times and the bad, the acceptance and the growth, the they and the us, the serenity and the passion, the connection and the rebellion, the creativity and the burning of the old rusty fences that are holding you back.

I've never been an exhibitionist. Fame and money have never been my goals. If I played music it was for myself, softly so no one could hear. If I made art, it was unassuming doodles on scraps of paper that didn't matter. If I wrote, the final pieces were buried away, whether in journal pages or word documents in neatly organized file folders.

Social media changes everything.

Suddenly, everyone has a voice. Suddenly I'm thinking, why not my voice, what's wrong with my writing?  Sure, I didn't get an English degree, I hold no MFA, but plenty of people write online, after all, it's just the Internet.

"It's just the Internet." What a catch 22 - in my head, it's either "Don't air your ***** laundry, no one wants to know," or, "Go ahead, air your ***** laundry, you're a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things, who's going to care?"

I've never been an exhibitionist, but social media changes everything. You have a thought? Tweet it. You like a photo? Pin it. You have an opinion? Post it. Facebook, tumblr, ello, Hello Poetry, wordpress, blogspot - there are so many venues, take your pick. The world is your oyster. Express yourself.

Fame and money have never been my goals. And I don't say this in an attempt to be original. I don't say this with the idea that I'm above anyone who'd want either. Because let's be real, would I say no to being paid to write? Of course not.

No, what I'm really after is something else. Connections. If I unleash my thoughts into that strange universe that is the Internet, maybe, just maybe, I'll get something back, a spark, a "message received." Not a "Hi, how are you," but a "Yes, I understand. Let's share stories."