i'll write you a letter, if you'll sing me a song. sealed with a kiss and thirty two cents.
I’m in a strange place right now, lost and scared. Confused as fuck, not knowing what to do, where to go, whom to turn to. My hand never wants to pick up a pen and write in my journal about all the things that have done me wrong, but my mind just wishes I could get it out because then it would be done with. If I could just get it on paper it wouldn’t be my problem any more, it’d be that stupid book’s, whose pages I fill with nonsense about a boy who doesn’t love me back. Which boy? Whichever one. They’re all the same, or maybe it’s me, maybe I’m the one who is always the same. Self doubt brings me to this place of confusion, brings me back to that frightened little girl sitting in her bedroom afraid to go outside, afraid of what the others will say, too scared to take chances, wasting her life away. Never be afraid, always be strong, I tell myself over and over again, I’ll never get any where if I don’t take the chance, but failure is too much for me. I always take the easy way out, the way that leaves me crying in my bedroom, punching my pillow, and cursing myself over and over again. Cursing that boy who break my heart, cursing that girl whose hand he is now holding, cursing that job that I didn’t get because I never called them back, cursing that bank account that won’t grow on its own, cursing that landlord who comes to pick up my check in a week. So what’s left to do? Run away like that little lost girl, or be strong, be a woman and do what I got to do. Do what will make my momma proud, instead of running back to her arms. Tell that stupid boy that I think he’s a babe and just get it over with, because I can’t sit back and watch forever. But how many times have I written this down? How many times have I promised myself I’d laugh louder, smile bigger, and take more risks? Here I am again, back doubting myself. It’s a never-ending circle of self-consciousness and failure, one of these days; I’ll become the girl I pretend to be. One of these days I’ll be the woman that I want to be. The one who is never afraid to say what’s on her mind, the one who never looks back, jumps when she wants to, and doesn’t regret it. At least now it’s not my problem any more, my dear Microsoft Word it is your turn to deal with this mess of a girl I have created. The jokes on you.