Sometimes, I write.

Sometimes when I write, I forget that others can and may read it.

That’s why you may notice a lot of errors in my posts. I rarely go back and reread what I wrote. I mostly just pour out my heart and soul then hit publish.

I guess that’s what I get for keeping a public online journal. I can, and probably should, just write then tuck my words away but deep down I hope they find someone who needs them.

I’m no Shakespeare, I’m no Maya Angelou, no James Baldwin, no Bell Hooks but I enjoy writing. I find myself reading the works of others and feeling like I have some nerve trying to be amongst them.

My vocabulary sucks and my education doesn’t go further than “some college”. So who am I to call myself a writer?

Tbh, I never really believe it when I say it myself but I hope that one day I will say it and mean it.

Sometimes I think people won’t care about what I say until I’m dead or successful. Which may actually be more of a fact than a thought.

Sometimes I wonder if I actually have something to say worth hearing.

But, I don’t want people to hear me…

I want them to feel me.

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