Recently I was told that I was sitting on a tall, wide fence. Of course, it was in the context of comments I made on the website over at AAYSR. I seriously didn't get it at the time. Me? A fucking fence sitter? I sat with the idea of it for a while. I let it simmer, and bubble, and boil. And then I realized: I am sitting on the fence and I have a fence post uncomfortably wedged in my ass.
I don't know what is wrong with me lately. Well, actually I do. It's just really hard to admit you're a pussy. It's really hard to admit that you're writing is stale and empty and devoid of personality. I'm trying to figure out if I have the figurative balls to be the kind of writer that I need to be. Am I brave enough to put down the shit that is really in my head? Can I get down off the fence and explore the fucked up shit that festers in my skull, the questions, the bitter and broken dreams. The truth. Does anybody really tell the truth anymore?
Fuck it all. I'm a black hole. Maybe there's nothing left to say. And even if there was, is it even worth the risk of exposing myself even more than I already have? I think about the nude pictures of me possibly floating around somewhere on the internet. Pictures I sent to some guy back when I was a damn fool, but hotter than I realized. Do I worry about them? Not as much as I should. Like I said, I was hot. Who cares if some guy is jacking off to them in some skeevy apartment? Ok. I do a little bit. But why does it matter? I'm not that girl anymore. Or am I? Isn't what I do here the same thing but without the titty show?
I'm sick of not committing to this work. And you can laugh at that and mock it and say, "Girl, you're not even getting paid to do this shit." And I'll still say it's work because it's hard and it takes its toll and it wakes me up to jot something down on paper and it stays in my head - the words, the language. How I craft it and manipulate it and mold it. If that isn't work than I don't know what is. I want to get back to that place where I hit, "Publish Post" and gasp, "Should I really have posted that?" That would be me exiting the proverbial fence and finally telling the stories I need to tell, the real ones that might hurt me to talk about, that might confound others or offend them. I can't create anything beautiful if I lie. And sad as it sounds, I don't have anything else to offer but my stories, raw and unfiltered.
2 hours ago