I need to write something. I need to say something. I need it. I feel it. But what? I get tired of harping on and on about the sick girl that feels and feels. Yet, that is what I am and do and see every single waking day. I feel. I feel lots. Too much. Oh, so damn much I need a damper some days. As previously stated I feel the need to create. To be a creator. Of what? Move the words around until I find the right order and I'll solve the puzzle of being this faulty human thereby saving all other faulty humans the pain and suffering of being faulty all alone? I think that might be so. I do believe there is this part of me that is so grandiose that thinks it can save people. Help them. With words. Like words saved me. Poetry. Music. Books. Films. They have saved me over and over. I quote pieces of these balms everyday. Sing them. Yet this seems an impossible task because words are always inadequate to the emotions being felt. But I try. Although not enough. Truth is, I haven't decided what my story is. Best get to it.
"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
― Maya Angelou