More Complex Than I Let On

I am sensitive, I am pure. I am genuine, and I am sincere. I know when people ask me, “How are you?” they don’t care, and deep down you know they don’t care either. But, I care. I won’t ask you how you are unless I truly want to know. People may think me rude for not asking, and that’s okay because the people who will judge me based on that, aren’t people I want to be around.
I can’t spell worth crap. I rely on spell check way to much.
I have trust issues, I don’t trust boys, but that’s not a choice I made. I was forced into that mindset. Yet, I am to trusting, I will pour my soul out in this blog, because I can.
I feel a sense of security in my writing that I don’t, and can’t, feel anywhere else. I can write like no one will ever read my work, yet I can write to inspire others. I crave acceptance, and for someone to be impressed with my work. I am one of those people who is going to have a hard time making a blog, because I’ll want to ask someone to read my work and tell me it’s good before I post it, because after it’s up it’ll be too late. I need to work on that.

Often times my logic won’t make sense to anyone but me, and that’s okay… I think…
I can’t trust people, yet I trust individuals until they do something to lose my trust.
I am not confident, yet I do things that will suggest I am.

I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life. I’ll probably go to college, but I don’t know what I’ll major in. It scares me that I don’t know, because, as a senior, I should know.
I write for fun, and when I write while in pain, that pain melts away through my writing. Then I can read what I’ve written and it doesn’t hurt me anymore. I can be strong, but when I write, it’s okay to be weak.
When I write, I’m… me.