A lot of people tell me that I can write. They read my works whenever there was a requirement needed to be done- a requirement for school, nothing personal. If someone asks me, "Do you really write?" I always say, "Yes, I write. But just for myself. I write for myself."
I thought it was a totally honest answer. But I was wrong.
I only scribble words for myself whenever I just feel like it. I write when you make me happy. I write when you make me cry. I write when you make me furious. I write when you break my heart. Basically, I write for every roller coaster of emotion you give me. My thoughts, my feelings, and my whole being are put together in a tiny piece of crap that I'm too ashamed to show people, especially you, because I think it's ugly and it could never be considered as art.
I thought I was writing for myself, but I was writing for you.
I was writing everything that I could not say to you. I pitied myself whenever I see you with that someone who is better than me and enclose myself in my castle. I hated confrontations that is why I swallow everything and make a fortress out of paper and ink. My pen bled the words that were stuck in my throat.
I thought it was making me a better person, trying to be a real artist turning a disaster into a beautiful mess. But all I had was a bigger mess.
I never grew as an individual because my life is not a fairytale that could be altered anytime through writing. I let you hurt me because I thought that writing would be enough to calm the chaos in my heart. You shattered me into multiple pieces like fine china dropped from the 100th floor of a building and yet all I ever did was write about it.
Writing is meant for people to let out their feelings, but it should be our shield and not our prison. What I did was trap and chain myself where I would not grow because I kept writing for you. I was so focused in you that I forgot my value in the process.
Writing is meant for people to let out their feelings, but it should be our shield and not our prison.
So today will be the day that I stop writing for you. I could now start chasing butterflies and unicorns. I could build shimmering rainbows and waterfalls. I could and I would unleash my highest potentials and start living my own dreams.
I will start writing for myself, not for you. And this time, it is for real.
Sent in by Rica Estrella. Submit your feels, too!