It has been difficult to write, even more so when writing poetry. It seems that I have lost the will to pick up a pen and paper and write about anything.
I don't understand why.
Even now as I type this out in the draft format of the blog's post, I am constantly berating myself for doing something that I do not care about or want to do. Should I not do it because I do not want to do it? Or should I keep typing away at this trying to figure out my muddled mind?
I think that it is my mind that is standing in my way. My confusion with who I am is making me a bit lost. It had been going through my head lately, but it got worse as I passed my eighteenth birthday in October.
Why do I feel like my soul is screaming because it is trapped inside this jail of a body? I want to cry with big crocodile tears, but I cannot. I want to scream like a banshee, but I cannot. I want to laugh like I truly mean it, and smile without a trace of the mask I wear, but I cannot. Sometimes I take the mask off and I look at it with curiosity because I cannot seem to remember why I have it, or why I wear it.
Surely there must have been a reason. A good reason.
I have lived in my head for quite a long time. I have not ever made a genuine connection with anyone. I do not have many friends, and those who call me theirs makes me question their motives. But who am I to complain? It was me who made it that way.
But I feel like it is time. Time to be willing to be open up? I don't know.
I am so scared, you see. It isn't the "scare" where someone pops out at you with a "Boo!" and you giggle it off. No, it is the sweat-trickling, eyes-widening, shuddering, chilling, and horrifying fear. For who will accept my crocodile tears? Who will hear my screams? Who will want to laugh with me and who will see me, take off my mask and tell me I don't need it anymore?
Maybe it's better off to be alone.
Who cares, right?
I don't understand why.
Even now as I type this out in the draft format of the blog's post, I am constantly berating myself for doing something that I do not care about or want to do. Should I not do it because I do not want to do it? Or should I keep typing away at this trying to figure out my muddled mind?
I think that it is my mind that is standing in my way. My confusion with who I am is making me a bit lost. It had been going through my head lately, but it got worse as I passed my eighteenth birthday in October.
Why do I feel like my soul is screaming because it is trapped inside this jail of a body? I want to cry with big crocodile tears, but I cannot. I want to scream like a banshee, but I cannot. I want to laugh like I truly mean it, and smile without a trace of the mask I wear, but I cannot. Sometimes I take the mask off and I look at it with curiosity because I cannot seem to remember why I have it, or why I wear it.
Surely there must have been a reason. A good reason.
I have lived in my head for quite a long time. I have not ever made a genuine connection with anyone. I do not have many friends, and those who call me theirs makes me question their motives. But who am I to complain? It was me who made it that way.
But I feel like it is time. Time to be willing to be open up? I don't know.
I am so scared, you see. It isn't the "scare" where someone pops out at you with a "Boo!" and you giggle it off. No, it is the sweat-trickling, eyes-widening, shuddering, chilling, and horrifying fear. For who will accept my crocodile tears? Who will hear my screams? Who will want to laugh with me and who will see me, take off my mask and tell me I don't need it anymore?
Maybe it's better off to be alone.
Who cares, right?
