I want to write something profound like Hosea Frank, Aaron Weiss or Rory Ferreira. It’s difficult not keeping track of the words I’m misusing. I hate repeats and wasted ones. Every part of me wants to go back read through and edit. Every time I do, the post just ends up discarded. 2016 started with a bang that sounded a flat tire. Changing it by the side of the road, I soon grew tired of these social problems I can’t change but meditate on night and day.

I’m not the type of guy that has a lifestyle worst fantasizing. I dream big, laugh loud and when I’m alone I’m often crying. It takes a lot to be positive especially when writing like this. Not because of emotions tapped but the private messages that ask “are you okay” or “what happened to make you write that?”

It’s nothing recent that caused a wound, it just so happens that mine run deep. I remember a time walking along train tracks with that steep hill on the side. I decided to climb it. Many people had trouble keeping up with the demons I saw in shadows. I was looked at as weird, because I wasn’t dark enough to be dreamy. I’ve always had a problem committing to a look. I wanted to stand out being myself.

Unfortunately that bears a weight I didn’t understand. When you open yourself up people ask normal questions that can probe too deep. I just did this so you could see, I don’t want you to touch that. So I shell up and shut down. I’ll find a new place. Maybe strangers can tell me they like my writing again. That always helped.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.