'Why am I doing this? Who even cares...I bet I look like a joke.'
She makes my finger hover over the delete key...Sometimes she wins, sometimes she does not. Sometimes she makes me stare at my image, to make sense of it, to validate the existence of it.
Am I like you? I think maybe I am, and that is the reason I am not deleting this one...because I think you might know of what I speak.
" You fucking IDIOT! Can't you see how untalented you really are???"
I don't like her at all. She is the one who knows when I am down, she takes great pleasure in revelling. She points out my flaws, compares me to everyone who might make me feel insecure at the best of times.
'You might inspire somebody one day. Somebody who really needed it. Maybe not now, maybe you will be long dead, but that's not the point now is it?'
She is the one I long for, the one who makes up for all of the others. She makes me remember the real words spoken to me, by friends and by strangers. It helps me to live with the others, and really I do need them all. What depth can I have if I feel nothing but joy? No, I need this turmoil. I am nowhere near as deep without it. One day it may be my end, but that is my war to wage. They make me question my world and my life. I hate them and I love them, but in the end it is always me.
Why does it scare me so, why does it torment me? Why does it bring me to tears? These words, these little sentences are pulled from the very core of me. My blood flows through each line as though they were my veins. I leave a piece of myself everwhere I post, like an offering from my very soul. I want the eyes that read them to see what I see.