The real me

I can honestly say I'm just passionate about my work. Nobody seems to understand why I write, they don't understand the feeling and meaning in my words. It's almost as if I'm alone in this world, they don't get me at all. Who cares if I'm different from you, or from her. At least I can say that I'm me. Look beyond the words you see on this page, and you'll find me. I'm in my every text. I'm in each little word. To you its a bunch of letters and punctuation. To me its my own work. I write as an outlet. This life is too crazy, I write as a way to explain what I never could if I were speaking. Speaking aloud, alone, and with empty space it just doesn't come out the way I planned. So I write. Its right here on this web page, this paper in my journal I've hidden away. My emotions are here on this page and there they will stay until the day I send them away, through the air to be spoken aloud. You won't understand though, most people don't. But I write and publish and everybody reads. Only the truly deep ones get the real me.





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