I wrote this for my dad. He died before I ever met him.
Why can't I be a writer? Why can't I do the one thing i yearn to do? To be good at? Why do my words come out so amateur, so plain? I want to be creative. I want to be inspirational. For my words to sound beautiful. A writer, that's all I wanted to be. Why can't I be the one thing I would love to do? I want to be more then just a mother and a wife. Though I love being those two things above all. I want to be me, an individual. I don't know who I am. What is my favorite color? Is it really yellow? My favorite movie? Song? Can you just tell me what they are and make it easier on me? So I feel like I kno myself. Who are you anyways? I want to live life. Not watch it pass by.I want to be good at something. At this.I have realized I can not force myself to be somehing I am not.Why can't I be though? Why have this urge to be a writer is I'm never going to be good at it?
I don't know you. I've seen your face only through the stillness of a photo. I've never heard your voice, but I assume it's one of love. I've never heard your laughter but your smile meets your eyes. I've never met you but I feel you. I've never known you.
You wrote, I try to write.
You listened, I listen.
I've done bad, but you've done worse.
You were lost, and at times I feel the same.
You're blood is my blood.
I've never seen you, I've never heard you, and I've never known you. Though I feel as if I know you as if we met. You're a bigger part of me then I would have known. And I don't know how I feel about that.
It was just something old I found in one of my notebooks. I tend to buy different notebooks start to write nad never finish or stray from it cause I get so frustrated so I have tons of notebooks with things written here and there. lol