writing

8/23

I hate writing. I hate everything about it. Picking up the pencil and pouring out feelings i wish i could discard like trash in a room. Trash in a room that for some stupid reason makes people who they are, but how come i have to feel this way? why cant i just get rid of my emotions the same way i ghost people due to isolation and the fear that if i don’t leave first, they’ll leave me eventually. I am something. Thats all i am. Something. Quiet, loud, scared, alone, thats all i am. I sleep at night begging for that blissful feeling ive had time and time again. Its all i want. I want to be seen. I want to be held, touched, praised, respected, loved. i want so desperately to be seen.

(Tdys writing is so buns + my wrist hurts from writing LMAO)