Do you understand that writing isn't pretty?
Do you understand that people have ugly attitudes and live in ugly relationships and make unholy alliances?
Do you get that?
Do you understand that if you intend to write - not blog - but actually write - you have to pick scabs and scar souls and pierce hearts? And if you don't ... you might as well use crayons to create a mosaic of a life that doesn't exist.
I read about abuse in other countries and other ethnicities and other ideologies. Who’s writing about the abuse in a relationship? Who’s writing about the deals we strike for sanity? Or safety? Or surety? Or financial security? Or inclusion in society?
Who’s writing about the weaponry in the arsenal of affection? Bartered affection. Bought acceptance. Brokered attention.
I read about the need of tolerance. Who’s writing about the tolerance necessary in commitment? Who’s writing about the tolerance needed to endure indifference? Who’s writing about the tolerance needed to sustain hopefulness?
I read about drunks, and fat people, and people who narcotic themselves to endure their bargains: “I’ll trade dignity for one more drink.” “I’ll trade pride for one more pork chop.” “I’ll trade self-respect and spread my legs one more time to prevent solitude.”
That’s real people living real lives who try to endure.
Write it or tell the world you’re a blogger.
You don’t want to read it?
I didn’t want to live it.
You can close your eyes.
I write because I can’t close my vein.
My broken heart just keeps spurting my sorrow onto a page.