it’s mine, not theirs.

note: this is not targeted at anyone, it’s just my opinion :)

Writing is my pulse,  
my breath,  
my way of being.  
They don’t own my words,  
my thoughts,  
my voice.  
I’m not here for their comfort,  
for their approval,  
for their applause.  
I’m here to carve something out of nothing,  
to scream, to whisper,  
to bleed across the page.  
 
Why is it that every time I write  
someone expects me to fit their mold?  
To stay quiet,  
to stay safe,  
to stay simple.  
To hide the parts of me  
that don’t make sense  
to them.  
 
My creativity is not a service,  
it’s not a favor,  
it’s not a tool for their entertainment.  
It’s mine  
my truth, my fire,  
my refusal to be boxed in.  
If that offends them,  
good.  
It’s not my job to tiptoe around their fragility.  
I won’t apologize for being myself.  
 
This world is full of voices  
that are too afraid to speak.  
I refuse to shrink down  
just to make them feel better.  
I will write what is true,  
whether they understand it or not,  
whether it fits their expectations  
or makes them uncomfortable.  
 
It’s not disrespectful  
to write my soul on a page.  
It’s the truest thing I can do.  
And if they can’t handle that,  
that’s their problem.