its suppose to be naked, real, honest. all the best is raw and unashamed to be gritty. even the pretty and soft are met with negativity. there was a point in my life, a few years past, where i was unafraid to bare my soul before a numberless audience. my words were harsh and cut throat, my message straightforward and unapologetic. (visit my myspace and see for yourself.) some may read my history and think i was in a very dark place and perhaps thats the truth, but not all of it. i just didnt put my feelings in a box. i wasnt afraid to admit i was a mess. i wanted you to know what was going on even if i didnt say it to your face. somewhere along the way, somehow, my fear to be that open and vulnerable grew. and now everything i log into online is under an alias because im not sure i want the world to know its me. is my subconscious admitting that theres something wrong with me? or am i afraid thats what someone will tell me? i read other peoples blogs and commend them for being real, blatant, (even vulgar)...but what im truly commending you for is having the courage i lack. i use to be that comfortable in my skin, and i dont know what happened. in becoming who i am i left behind part of who i was that i shouldnt have. i left behind the part of me that wasnt afraid to write it regardless of whether or not it sounded pretty. now i find myself trying to dress everything up and it makes writing hard. i think i want so badly to bring life and hope to the world that i try to ignore the reality of death, and i dont mean physical death, but the death of love, joy, dreams, hopes, purpose. i cant bring the life of those things until i face the reality of the death in them. i try to make anguish, loneliness, and confusion poetic, but theres nothing poetic about them. i want you to be free of those things, not find an easier way to live with them. just because i can say it eloquently doesnt make the bleeding stop or the intensity of the ache lessen. i keep writing about the same things and its getting old, but i know why now. its because i keep trying to make everything less than what it is. now matter how pretty it sounds its still all been shot to hell. i have this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that im leading two lives. one wants everything to be okay and the other knows it isnt and doubts it will be. and i feel that way because im hiding behind stanzas that rhyme. maybe the girl that was unafraid to write of anger, bitterness, and an unyielding agony wasnt suppose to die, because that girl worked through it. she faced the darkness head on, called it out and overcame. that girl didnt make it easier to live with, she knew she didnt have to, and so she beat it. im just repetatively going through the motions. but its not always pretty...and just maybe, thats the beauty of it.
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