I'm writing..... writing.. and writing.

And I lose myself in the intensity of my inquiries. 

It seems pointless sometimes to even vent.

Because no one will know who I am by the sharpening of my pencil or the click of my pen.

So....Why? Why do I write?

It's my outlet. my niche...

The only place I know that my thoughts are safe, and they come with no consequences. 

Even though my voice is not always heard, writing is a way for me to hear myself, when things seem blurred.

Then , I write again and again.

My pen will not cease, I am lost in this realm. And now I have to find me. 

I hurt. I cry. I live .I lie.

I am not perfect and I will never claim perfection.

My flaws make me who I am, and so do my confessions.

I write because life is not only precious ,but short.

And who am I to deney myself a voice.