The Scrambled Philosophies That I Call Thoughts

To be honest

To be honest, I'm thinking about quitting poetry. I honestly don't enjoy writing it as much as I used to, but now that this book has so many reads I've gotta up my game, but I feel like I'm running out of things to put in here and I don't know what to do. I've come way too far to give up now, but I don't even know anymore. It's just that I feel under so much pressure to update (even though nobody's asking) because I have so many people to please, and I update less frequently than I did before. And sometimes things just come to me, but I don't know how to put it down, and my mind's so freaking clouded. And I don't understand what I'm feeling myself (much less how to write it) and then all the feelings just turn to gray. Silence in my mind. But the silence is forced, and I just wanna write it, but when I try to do so, there's nothing there. Never one freaking heartfelt thing there, and have to make something up because of the people, the fans! And I can sense the feelings, I know they're there but they're just blanketed in gray, and that's why I can't write. That is why I cannot write.
But this book, it means everything to me, okay? There I admit it. It wasn't supposed to be this way, it really wasn't, and I feel so selfish. Everything has always been about me, me, me, and I wanted this to be the one thing that isn't for me. This is for the heartbroken teen, and the frightened kid with cynical views. It's for all the victims out there who just want to scream, and all of those who are haunted by thoughts of the inevitable end. This is for all of the people who were told that they could be nothing, and for the ones who never give up anyway. This is for you. And if it's about me, that defeats the entire purpose of writing it. It may as well have been nothing. It was supposed to be my thoughts, put down so that YOU could relate to them. So that you would would know that you're not alone. And this should be perfect, getting so many reads. I should be smiling, not crying. It should be perfect, because so many people have read this, and I know some relate, and they know they're not alone, and this moment should be perfect. But it's not, because being a writer is my dream, and this: it's all I've ever wanted. All this is like my dream come true! But this wasn't supposed to be about my dream, it was supposed to be about making you feel less alone. And I'm so sorry, because it wasn't supposed to be this way, and I swear, I didn't mean to get attached. But it's happened, gosh it's happened, and this book means so much to me. And I feel so stupid, because people said that I should try to make something out of it for myself. They said that maybe I could "make some money off of my poetry and add it to my college fund" but I didn't want to do that, because this was the one thing that was supposed to be about everyone but me. But look what's happened: I love this book, and I love you guys, and I don't want to let you down because this-all this, it means so much. They said that if it hurt me to try to profit off my book, just forget that they ever said anything, and it did hurt. I wanted this to be all for you, and I stood by that so boldly, but look where I am now. I'm so sorry for getting attached. I swear I didn't mean it. I tried...I tried so hard.