I got myself a pen pal last night. I found her on Instagram.
That’s not what I wanted to write about.
For the summer I’m hoping to finally start arranging my poems into chapters so that maybe I can get them published together as some sort of anthology.
Not sure if that is what I wanted to write about.
I miss my mother, a lot. It would be really great if I could talk to her about this new change in my life – me moving, and the cause of it.
Definitely wasn’t going to write about that.
I miss blogging. I want to do it more often. I definitely could since I have more time on my hands now. It’s just that I don’t know what I want to write about. I certainly have things on my mind, but I don’t know what I should reveal and what I should keep to myself. What can I blog about? What should I just write in my journal? Should I even still write in my journal?
I’m beginning to wonder if all the ideas I have in my head are going to stay there – all the places I want to go to, the things I want to do and say. Will they stay in my head or will they be able to make it out, to come to fruition? I wonder if I should abandon them so as not to be too hurt when (if) they don’t come true, if they don’t make it. I wonder if I should abandon these doubts and really try to make these ideas more than just ideas. They don’t make sense to other people. Other people don’t understand why I want these things, how these things could possibly benefit me. But I understand. These things won’t benefit me. They’ll make me happy. I don’t have a reason. I just want to do them. I just want to live.
I want to live for myself. I don’t care about being called selfish. I know that’s what I am. But I think it’s fine.
I don’t want someone else running my life, telling me what to do with it. I want to do it for myself, not by myself, but for myself. Everyone has opinions and everyone sees life from a different angle. My angle counts. What I see counts. What I think counts. I see no reason for it to be disregarded. I acknowledge that I have not lived a great many number of years. I acknowledge that I am lacking, in many areas. But I will not be made to feel as if what I think is not significant because of that. I will not be belittled for having my own opinions and perspectives. I will not subscribe to the idea that I am stupid or foolish, for thinking the way I do and wanting the things I want.
I am not one for inspirational thinking, or any thing that is meant to be uplifting, but I am becoming very tired of so frequently being positioned beneath the feet of others.