My existence matters, they say.
Sure, I exist.
But why am I so uncomfortable with being a person?
I’ve been reading a lot of Charles Bukowski’s writing lately, and I want to memorize every word. I want to share his writing with everyone, but not all would understand. I usually only share with those whom I believe will appreciate his words like I do. But who am I to judge what others can and cannot understand?
My biggest fear is my writing not evoking emotion. There’s nothing more I want than for my readers to feel.