It was never for you, but for me.

I don't write for you, I write for me. Everything that goes down is my diary, It's all my insecurities, my thoughts, my dreams, my everything. It's who I wish I could be, Who I wish I was. The explosion of thought upon this paper, The art of turning feelings into a story, Somewhere to escape to. For years I stop writing, I lost myself. I couldn't see what was the use. I wrote down everything thinking it was a nuisance. But writing is my escape. When I had nowhere to escape to, The world was the toughest, It was all just too real. I locked everything up inside myself. I wasn't me. I just sat by and watched the world go by, Hardships happen and I couldn't even cry. Than one day I couldn't take it, I needed to get away. I packed my bags and wrote it down, Then broke down started to cry, My pen keep writing since. I didn't do it for people to see, I didn't do it for you. I did it for me.