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I Prefer To Keep Some Things Private

I used to be a song/poetry writing machine. I once cranked out 10 poems in one class period. Used to be real proud of that achievement. I don't write much these days because I just don't feel inspired. I don't know how to say what I want to. I rarely share anything I write because I'm afraid of how it will be taken. A lot of it is angry, sad, framed around darker subjects. I don't want to be questioned, laughed at, or judged over it.

I will never forget this one time in the beginning of my senior year. In my english class (well we had to take british literature that year) we had to bring in something that matters to us and write about what we liked to write about. I had brought in an Alice In Chains CD (facelift) and talked about how much I love the band and how they inspire me to write. I then like an idiot read off a poem I had written titled "My Demise". It was about someone who feels like they would be better off dead and how everyone would cheer when they died. I looked around the room saw people laughing with others, ignoring me completely or talking with friends. I felt defeated. Everyone else got listened to it wasn't fair I thought. I shared a part of myself, it was emotional, that poem was about me and my feelings. I made myself vulnerable in front of everyone.

I took a poetry class in college. I enjoyed the class but dreaded it when the professor would pick poems she liked best and read them outloud. She had picked mine a few times and each time I died inside and felt so embarrassed. My face got all red and warm and I was not thrilled when she said I wrote it. Why did she have to go do that? Ugh I'm just going to get judged and laughed at again by everyone.

I have a very hard time talking about how I feel or expressing myself through emotions in my everyday life. It is very hard for me to tell someone I am struggling or have problems with myself. I have to do it through writing because it's the only way for me to say what I have to say and decompress before I explode.
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kodiac · 22-25, M
Seems like a safe place to share about posting
Moths
i post my poem here
a pinned moth, still moving
i read it once, and it twitches it's last
then goes still, cold, a fact of history
another specimen in the display case
only mine by chance and memory
others have brighter colors
or in life must have flown like nightmares
wrecked cities in their day
mine just sits impaled and dead
i move on, head filled with mothballs
and the holes keep showing up in my clothes