My passion for writing is something quite unexplainable.
It's a true mystery, sometimes I fail, epically and I can't write a single poem or produce one I like.
The act of writing alone is what brings me joy like a little kid on Christmas morning.
Picking up a pencil entices me to write more to fill up more of those empty white pages because even though I can't make my self feel less empty inside at least I can make the paper less empty.
The thought of people reading my works and commenting on it makes me want to jump out of the screen and give all of you giant hugs, that's weird so I'll just stick with virtual hugs for all of you!
~E.M.C
YOU ARE READING
Hurt Beyond Repair.
PoetryHurt and frightened and no where to turn except for my journal. Curse words being streamed at me and you would have thought I had a father for a sailor. ~E.M.C Many poems focusing on the subject of Mental Illness, that many suffer with and the su...
