It seems that whenever I talk to people I don’t know so well, my voice’s maximum volume decreases forty notches. My parents always scoff at me when I tell them I can’t talk any louder (they’re constantly nagging me about it), with a snarky, “Yeah, sure. That’s why you’re always yelling at home, right?” But, in all honesty, I just suck at talking to people. Plain and simple.
Most people like to write because they have so many stories to tell, and la di da. Not me; I adore writing because I can scream as loud as I want on the paper without fear, even to strangers happening upon my works of art. Because, when you’re writing, the words do not get a little harder to see if you’re not so hot at it, or if you’re worried about what other people will think. The letters always the same, confident and clear, just begging to have eyes laid upon them.
With written words, you can spill all your secrets in poetry and fight all your battles in stories. You can confess love with a song or give advice with an article. In every word is a piece of yourself, and in every writing is a voice – one that has never screamed so loud.