This is not the age to bare your soul. We have made an alien of the poet, a sideshow of the artist, and a spoiled brat of the performer. We communicate in beeps, clicks, and tweets, effectively saying nothing. Yet many things remain to be said, and i might as well be the one to say them.
I offer no apologies for what I posted last night, but i am willing to lucidly elaborate it further. What I was trying to get at, in a less than coherent fashion, was that I am tried of having to hold back my thoughts for fear of others' disapproval or apathy. i am tired of suppressing the small things because they aren't grand enough, and believing, just like everybody else does, that something has to be terrible and overbearing just to be important. Here it is and it is what it is. i can write and you can read it or not.
Selfishness and anxiety are horrible reasons not to share my thoughts or my work. Even the most random of squiggles takes on a certain potency if it was rendered out of boldness and love.