30.11.09

[4 Days since my Last Outburst]

I feel the need to write something profound.
I feel the need to write something of significance.
I feel the need to write something that matters.
...to me

But to write on here is to not write just for me.
It's to write for others.
It's to write for those I know.
The people that I personally know and secretly hope bother to read this.
It's to write for those I do not know.
As if people ever read strangers' blogs anymore.

I can pretend that this place is for myself.
I can pretend that this place is my new journal, since my last is long since filled.
I can pretend that this place is somewhere I can keep all my secrets.

But how can it keep secrets when I know people can read it?
That people in my life can view it?
People that I love and care about can read it.
The world wide web is really not all that difficult to browse.
Anything can be found by unwanted eyes.

And I know this.
I hope for it.
I even amend my own style of writing for it.
To try and sound intelligent.
But I understand that I'm not a writer.
I cannot bend and twist words to create beautiful or terrible images.
I try
...and it falls flat.

I've realized that I ain't no writer.
I've realized after years of pretending otherwise.

I'm no better than Stephenie Meyer.
Maybe I can tell a story.
But I cannot tell it correctly or well.

So it's decided.
I've made my own decision to start fresh.
To write for myself.
Not to impress.
To write just because.

No more boring day to day journals.
No one cares.
I finally know this.
I'm no longer a teenager.
Although I may not be grown up.

I have discovered that I am a 12 year old girl
Inside a 20 year old girl's body.

Let's start things fresh.

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