‎Insecure Writers Support Group

I never know what I’m doing with this blog, writing in it certainly, this is obvious. But is it a platform or a voice. Both. Who am I? A blogger who writes poetry or a poet with a log. Both. Neither?

Neither seems more likely some days when I’m not writing poetry or blog posts and I’m just squirrelling away my thoughts in my mind, keeping it all to myself until I can’t keep it in any more. I do think that some days. Eventually I will explode and a millions words will come spilling out. When I die I will degrade and decompose into letters instead of cells.

There is so much life to live that I don’t always have the words for it. At which point do I stop pretending I am anything more than just a hack with a pen and blog and start living the normal life of a some average sale assistant and regular weirdo.

I’m not really special or talented.

I’ve never really thought I was though. I just liked to think that maybe I was something else.

I’ve always thought maybe I was someone else.

Doctors tell me it’s part of the Borderline Personality Disorder. I just call it hope.

This started out about writing about writing as it always does, but the two are woven so tightly, me and my words, I could never really tell the two apart. Even when I haven’t written in ages.

I continue on though, always will despite how it sounds.

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