My growth as a writer matters to me, yet I still feel inferior when someone asks what books I’ve written immediately assuming that I couldn’t be online or a poet or that there’s many different writers that go within and outside the boundaries of formats. I’ve tinkered with a few, but I think I used to be so avoidant at sharing information about myself. Even my feelings for a fucking poet.
That’s all changed now. I spark up memories constantly and live in this daze of nostalgia and new growth patterns. I lived so much of life timid and scared, especially to share that I write. Now it’s just something to be proud of even if I still have cowardice.
Little Leo lion girl,
When will you learn?
Doubt, Imposter Syndrome, Journal Entry, Leo, Lion, Mundane, Poem, Poetry, Prose, Reflections, Writer, Writing