Why I write.

I write because I feel the words in my blood

Twisting and turning underneath my skin, begging to be let out onto paper

To tell a story, to express a feeling, to let go of my grief or defuse my anger.

Why I write.

I write because if I don’t all of the things I’ve left unsaid get bottled up till I explode

I hate confrontation, I don’t like to fight.

But I have so many angry words I want to say,

To the people who hurt me, or betrayed me, or used and abused me

But I keep them to myself in the hope that I won’t make it worse, but there is only so much you can keep to yourself before all that hate and anger poison your heart and mind,

So I write.

I write about my hurt, and sadness, and anger.

Paper and pen my medium to lash out at the unfairness of the world, somewhere I can tell my secrets to and not worry about other people judging me because of it.

Writing allows me to express the ugly side of me in a way people find beautiful and heartfelt, it allows me to be angry and not cause bad situations to become worse, it allows me to reach out to people who know how I feel and paint them a picture of everything we understand but cant find the words to express out loud.

Writing paints not just a picture in your head but a feeling in your heart. When you put the right words together and someone reads it, if it’s in the right place at the right time, you can experience a monumental epiphany like no other. Your hands shake, your eyes blur, your heart soars, and your blood runs hot and your skin cold. You feel high and like everything in the world make sense and you’ve reached some understanding within yourself that you would have never reached had you not read that one sentence.

That is why I write.

I live for those moments.

I want to give those moments.

I want to connect with people on a darker, deeper level that we normally don’t allow others to reach in and see.

That is why I write.