I spent way too much time “trying to figure out what I want to write” and this blog isn’t shit for it. Every idea I had is still stuck in my drafts or trashed. Nothing I wanted to say felt like an original thought. Is there anything new to express, though? Probably not. So why is my take on the same old feelings any less valid than anyone else’s? It’s not, I suppose.

Truth is, I wanted to be important. I wanted my words to resonate in some way. But who am I? I am just another noise feeding into a cacophony of expression and emotion, and often times ill-informed opinion. I’m just another fucking person who wants to be heard; who thinks they have something new to add. I have nothing new to add. I only have something me.

I feel like I’m tired of being quiet, as though someone else forced me into silence. I’m my own oppressor. I’ll have to be my own liberator. I have to stop over-analyzing my words. I have to stop looking for ways to make myself more palatable. Who the fuck cares? Who am I trying to impress?


I just don’t underfuckingstand why people are so adamant that their anger is righteous and that it deserves to be met with acceptance. We ain’t all mad about the same shit. Ain’t no right or wrong when it comes to personal fucking feelings. You may be correct in your assessments of a situation, and that may validate your anger, but it does not fucking mean that anger is the only appropriate response.

Your emotional reactions aren’t the baseline for what is to be expected and what is correct. You can feel a way, and I can feel something opposite, but both feelings would still be valid. Never assume that your feelings are universal and that anyone who has a different emotional reaction is wrong.