Writing to me is an escape from reality. I think bizarre thoughts and I have feelings towards other people and those feelings can’t form in the right order to come out of my mouth. In turn, I use poetry and sad excuses of writing in order for me to process the jumble of things running around in my brain.
I know some, most of my writing isn’t the best, but its mine. The things I write and the things I chose to share with others are all carefully selected. The diction I use may not be great, but the final drafts of my writing are the best to what I want.
Looking through my blog or my writing, you may find essences of yourself in my writing. Not uncommon. My life is incorporated into all of my writing in one way or another, I’ve come to realize. I more often write of people and personal stories than any other type of writing.
Written words are my scapegoat. If you’re lucky enough to see a specific poem of mine, read the heart out of that poem. You were meant to see that poem for a reason, take care of it. I do.
I don’t write for attention, I write for the sake of myself. I won’t lie, I love that moment of gratefulness when others hear your poems are left dead in their tracks. They ask who wrote the poem and you don’t say anything, don’t say anything until their honest opinion comes. And when it does, admit yourself and then you’ll get looks of awe.
If only they understood what it was really about. I hope you try your best to do so. And when you do, that is when you’ll know what I’m really about, too.