I'm a bit temperamental, or just mental, so I write out my rages on endless pages. If I'm pissed off, my work is scattered and truly unruly. If I'm happy, it's transparent. If I'm sad, it's depression on a page.
I'm a fucking mess and I can't keep my shit together but, I digress. I am who I am and I just don't give a fuck if you dislike me.
I can siphon myself into my characters and make them how I want myself to be. They can have my problems in miniscule amounts. My books, the ones I don't write on here, are my way of telling the hardest truths. I make everything much better than it actually is. Sometimes I write about things that are worse than what my life is actually like to show myself that it could be worse. I am a liar but honestly, you don't want to know the truths I hide.
Even now, I'm withholding the things I want to say.
I can't make my parents be better people. I can't make people listen to me. And I can't fix myself, but I can write about a broken character and become welded.
The only power I have is in my writing; so I do everything in my power to control it. But sometimes emotion can't be tamed and it's like I'm writing out my inner turmoil and displaying it onto a page.
I'm a little messed up because my peers, my family, my friends and my role models fucked me over. It makes me want to cry and scream, so I write instead. I am my own worst enemy but I am also my saviour. The main reason:
I write to escape.
YOU ARE READING
The First Fifty Pages Of Me by Nailinthewall
PoetryThis is all the weird things I think and what I will never say. And my personal journey in my last year of school.
