a year full of life

are words worth it?

i go through spouts of doubts and fears, where words feel like jumping off a cliff into failure rather than freedom. sometimes writing can feel liberating and like the one thing i was meant to do. the feeling i get when something just works is unimaginable, something inside me just seems to click - but then i'll put that something online and become irrationally scared of what would happen if someone i knew read it, someone i didn't trust to take care of this precious thing i love so dearly (my words). would they cherish it because it's something i love so much, something that means so much to me - or would they laugh at it? would they think it meaningless that i make up these silly metaphors and rhymes just to make my thoughts flow into poetry that help my mind feel so so light? it feels suffocating that something that's brought me joy to do ever since i was ten years old - even though it was of reindeers and princesses, evil sisters and benevolent queens back then - could be destroyed so so easily by people with no concept of it themselves. it all seems to me like something you should keep sacred, in the confines of your very deepest thoughts never to be desecrated by others - or even to keep away from my very own horrible attempts at making myself feel fulfilled with comments and streams of admiration and love (fuel to the metaphorical mind machine that is creativity and happiness and w o r d s).