I'm pretty messy

in a very careful way

I tend to over think

every mistake

writing is how

I stay sane

every time

I try to speak plain

watching the moon

wax and wane

I'm overtaken

by an intense pain

so thanks for sticking with me

through sunshine and rain

That even though you all have given me a place to write freely and openly I'm afraid to share all of me. I've been corrupted to believe that you'll still judge me.

My religion;

My age;

My likes;

My fears;

My family;

Me.

I don't know.

Maybe I'm wrong.

I want to spill everything in front of you, express more than I have, but I don't want my words to be viewed differently.

That's what I want all of you that I love dearly to know.

there is nothing to see here

i am average

and i am not writing

just bleeding

my mind is

a gray garden

and i am just trying to do some weeding

in sunshine

i see darkness

and in darkness

i see black holes

i can't tell if

i mimic winter

or if winter

mimics my soul

i am recovery dead-on-arrival

i am weeping chaos

a lost cause

god's greatest flaw

a ghost with leech-like tendencies

a heart that's too damn raw

I have always found creating things easy, and compulsive.

I am by nature inquisitive, empathic and caring.

I'm too old to retrain in another skill and to worn out to even try, so this is it. I'm throwing all my remaining energies into creating.

I love the written word and the process of assembling those words into something that has meaning. The trouble is I mistook my love of writing for a love of reading, I just hope I have enough left in my rusted out tank to drive this forward, and to be the best I can be in my (ahem), senior years.

I hope that people who read what I write find something they like, though my inner fear is that I've left it too late.

I tried to write my first novel when I was 18 but half way through my happy go lucky girl became a bitter and hateful woman whom I hated. And I couldn't make her any other way. So I abandoned her. That was when I learned that writing wasn't about me. I didn't have control. The characters did. And they would not do the things I wanted. I have since tried to write countless novels but never reached the end. Until now. Now it's time for second draft.

I haven't always liked to write. Really, I haven't.

That was probably before I read a whole lot though. I didn't even actually begin to read frequently until fourth grade.

Which was four years ago.

Yeah, I'm in eighth grade.

But when I started to really read, I was fascinated by the talent that the authors had. I could picture the scenes that they were describing so vividly that I often set the book down abruptly, got up, did a few things, then came back and wondered why the TV wasn't flipped on because I was certain that I had been watching a movie.

And I kinda wanted to be able do that. Still do.

(I'm not even going to attempt a poem on this one)

I'm not always sad. I know a lot of my posts are sad and I'm sure that get's annoying so I try to add some happy and simple things in here and there. (Challenges help that) Majority of the time, I am sad, but hey. I'm still here and I'm still running and well frankly, I don't wanna die a virgin.