The stories I want to tell are not the stories I can tell. I look at the screen and think "This time I will make it safe, fun, something everyone will like." But I can't write like that.
These stories burn through my mind, clamoring until they are let out, until the world sees them. I'm scared of what the world will know of me if I let them out, but they will consume me if I don't.
I've grown used to hiding. I don't show my emotions. I don't let people see the scars-- the rage. I nod and smile and laugh. Keep the blood hidden nicely underneath the skin.
When I write I can't hide. I have to bare myself on the page.The sadness. The vulnerability. Even the naivete. It's all there. Want to see my demons? I've locked them in the pages.
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