Letters To The Writer: Volume 1

July 29th

I have faced the fact that I don't sing perfectly,
Just need you to know what you're worth to me.
I don't continue to put myself in this hole purposely,
I feel like I can't say anything without being reprimanded to learn how to speak.

I feel forced,
Like I have to go through the only unlocked door.
I feel like the sun's heated cord,
Always wanting to knock something out, and kick it while it's on the floor.
I'm part of a war,
Against me, myself, and my mind.
I hope someone hears me, I'm out of time.
I wish that I was stupid and blind.
At least then I'll truly be honest when I say that I'm fine.

I'm tired of crying, telling the truth and be told that I'm lying.
Get taken out to lunch but find out that I'm buying, for two of my demons.
They like controlling me.
Look at people hatefully, especially those close to me, I'm sorry, it's not meant to be, I'm feeling empty, this is my fucking envy, on a fucking leash. But I'm not walking it.