Did I want someone to read my words or was I just satisfied that I got them out my head? I guess it was the second choice and kind of the first one too. I just needed to write so badly and get out those words and thoughts but part of me hoped someone would read my work and love it. I had people who love my work, not all of it. I also had people who kind of liked it and some who just wrinkled their noses and said okay. Some poems that I really enjoyed writing and felt were my best sometimes were considered "Hey, pretty good..." which made me feel confused because sometimes a poem I just wrote when I felt like I wasn't in my right state of mind were very loved.
It's crazy how that happens. I wonder who really ever passes by and reads what I write. I don't claim to be the world's best writer, I am so far from it nor am I trying to be the best. Sometimes my words don't make sense, sometimes my thoughts are incomplete, sometimes I put a comma where a period should be, sometimes I rhyme and sometimes I don't. Sometimes it's prose, sometimes it's a poem. Sometimes it's complete nonsense and then there's reason. Sometimes it's completely out there or way too hidden. Maybe it's all a waste or a saving grace.
All I know is that they're my words. My thoughts. My feelings. Maybe it's all messy. My mind is pretty messy. I really am a mess of a girl. And it's not always in a bad way.
Sometimes, most of the time, I don't want my writing to be shown or critiqued. I feel like it takes something away from it because in all honesty, in my writing there I am. In the way I messed up the grammar and misspelled the word, there I am. Hidden between the letters, screaming with my words, there I am.
Hmm... so I guess there's my answer. I write for me. I write for you. I write for me, I write so you know me and maybe will understand me.
