When I was was a teenager I had a blog. And I liked it. And I liked to write in it. Then I stopped. I think that life changed, and I stopped writing in it. And that blog still exists, and it is funny to read it over remembering who I was then, wondering where that part of me is now. Wanting that part of me back and wondering if I can still have that part of me when I am not at that place in my life but wanting it in my life now...
When I was in college, I started to write again, but this time, in journals. And I didn't just write about my day to day experiences, or use them to inform people about stuff. I wrote for me. I wrote poetry, and I wrote a short story now and again. i wrote a lot of words. And then I stopped. Life again? And I also want that part of me back. I like the writer inside of me. She is messy and beautiful all together.
My insides are full of words. My insides are full of magic and creative-ness and mess and beauty and those parts of me need to get out. My insides want to be on the outside of me. And I am trying to write. again.
I am trying to be messy.beautiful on the outside. and I am terrified of judgment. and of you rejecting who i am. so be careful. i am fragile. today. and probably tomorrow. but i am excited and willing and ready. to put my insides on the outside.
I can.
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