October 18, 2012
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I live in this little world all on my own. I go to school, come home, and go to appointments. Then on the weekends I spend time with friends, wasting money on clothes I don’t even really like, and makeup I’ll never even really use. And all for what? I would so much rather be sitting in my room all day, writing. Yet, as I say that, I realize that I can never really find a topic to write about. What if this dream of mine is destined to never become true? What if when it comes down to it, I am not actually a good writer? Then what am I going to do? Because truthfully, I don’t have anything else. I am terrible at math, science confuses me to the point of anxiety, and history is not of interest. I am not creative enough to be an artist, or beautiful enough to be a model. The only thing I have is writing. And maybe part of the reason that I have taken such a liking to writing is the fact that I can hide behind my words. When someone is reading a poem or a story, they don’t think of the author necessarily, they just think of the piece. When someone looks at a piece of art they critic it, down to the bone. When someone looks at a model, they think of nothing other than the flaws and perfections. I don’t want to be someone that is judged constantly, I simply want to share my views with the world. My dream is to inspire, and my medium is writing. Is that too much to ask?

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