So if I was honest here, if I wasn't so fearful of the masses I'd probably...
Post poetry. Mine. This is funny because I've had things published, I've received accolades. I'm still scared of you.
Un-filter myself. I'd tell you all about two summers ago and the moment my life changed. I've allowed you in, but not that far.
Alter my writing style. I write in stream of consciousness, with little disregard to proper use of commas and semi-colons. I let sentences end where I want them to. I'm afraid you won't comprehend it.
Tell stories that will make you cry. I love having the ability to alter a mood with mere words that are strung together. I liken them to marionette strings. I'm nervous you will resent me for it in the end.
Redesign my blog with my own artwork. I'll make up excuses, eventually, not to draw in the end, leave the space blank and attach my name to it. I'm fearful you will judge the crap out of me.
Write about my family. I'd write more about the dynamics, the differences, and the discomforts. I'm not afraid of you in this case, I'm afraid of my family stumbling upon it and of me hurting them.
Share some of my goals. I have them. I don't share them out of fear, just out of respect for myself and my own sense of privacy.
Be less narcissistic. I write my blog like a diary entry. I'm afraid to use this as a platform for my staunch beliefs, which are many, because, if I am being honest here... I'm afraid of your judgement.
Be more vulnerable. Here it is. This is it. This is what holds me back from connecting with you. I want you to fall in love with me. I want you to fall in love with the way I lace and intertwine words. I want you to fall in love with the way I make you feel. But here I am, afraid of you, so you won't.
Sometimes there are these moments, hidden in each entry, I'll let you in. Moments where I'll tell you how it felt and where I came from, where I'll share more than I should. I'll tell you how it hurt when she left. I will tell you about the connections, memories traced out like spider webs. You will know how happy I am that he's not here or the resentment I cling to watching how he interacts with her, who shares the same bloodline. I'll put together words that make less sense to you, but speak metaphorically to me. It will be subtle, but it will be there, encoded in surface talk, in ramblings and randomness.
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