I don't feel very pretty.

edit on August 1st, 4:01pm. I think it's amusing how this post doesn't have a title. some time from now you won't be able to tell who wrote it. i guess it reveals how we both feel (even if the original writer didn't know it).  -A.

On Writing

I am an avid reader.

Back when The Rugrats were still a thing and the Power Rangers didn't seem so campy, I always preferred to read or draw.

Climbing things?

Yeah, no.

Running around?

Okay, no.

Drawing and reading took me to far away places.

Magical places were stick figures lived in cloud houses.

Where pigs talked.

Where crocodiles put on plays.

Where trees where time machines.

My punishment was to not be taken to the library.

Or to have a cap placed on the amount of books I could take home.

As a teenager, I kept on reading.

Fiction.

Non-fiction.

Science fiction.

Textbooks.

Big books an little books.

I just don't understand.

I don't understand why.

Why can't I write beautiful?

Why do I hate paragraphs?

Why is it so hard?

Isn't reading and writing intertwined?

Shouldn't it be a cause and effect relationship?

Rii loved to read so she became a great writer.

I feel like I have written about this before.

I actually know I have.

blargh.

Whatever.

Writing is stupid anyway.