I have a really hard time communicating
Especially when I write...
This intimacy that we share with my words frightens me,
Spoken words are easily consumed and forgotten
But these words... the ones written for eyes I don't see, and faces I can't read
Makes me uneasy, at best.
I feel so venerable
No one asked me to do this, to be here...
But I can't seem to break free from this feeling.
The best I've done to eliminate my fear of this scrutiny, is lie...
I leave out bits or chunks of truths to mold my life into this masterpiece.
To eliminate any reason for critique
It's so incomplete,
There's this void in almost everything that I write.
I have this journal,
I keep it in my nightstand, the top drawer
Right by my bed
So that its never too far away.
Even in the pages of my own personal daily records,
My words seem so foreign
I don't know why I have this great fear.
Of being open, or free...
I don't want to be wrong.
I don't want to reviel my weaknesses, or my desire, to anyone.
I long so much, to be understood.
To simply be understood.
But what I fail to do is allow people in.
In relationship I'm guarded.
I assume everyone is a monster,
before I even try.
I don't try.
I'm afraid of the monsters,
Those goblins hiding in my closet, creeping under my bed.
I just want to be free.
I suppose this is where courage comes in...
I have to learn how to take criticism,
and be unscaved by the negativity of outsiders.
Scammers, heart thieves, and demons.
I promise to be real.
...At least on paper.
Until I muster enough courage to believe what I dream.
And to speak what I know.
Me playing small serves no purpose.
Other than to allow others to use me as a stepping stone.
I'll pull myself to the top.
Without crabbing my way to success.
Nothing can be accomplished without Love.