I think it was Joan Didion who said we write to figure out what we’re feeling.
I found the quote: “I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”
I do the same. I’m no Joan Didion, but, God, how I love to write. I’m not even good at it most times. I mean, I think I’m a good writer, but when I write for myself, I do anything I want. I write like a child at times, like a British grandmother at others. I suppose there’s nothing really wrong with that, I just find it funny.
I write in my various journals; I actually found two old ones and some loose-leaf diary entries at the bottom of my last desk drawer. I write in the Notes app on my phone, have since I was in 8th grade.
I’ve been interrupted. I’m going to walk my dog.
About the Creator
daphne gray
just a girl in this world who thinks a lot and writes a lot and some of it makes sense and some of it doesn't. enjoy nevertheless.
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Competition
I have known Competition since birth. We were like siblings in the womb. Friends, situated by each other in the newborn nursery. She’s a pebble (a rock), in my shoe, and I have no choice but to carry her with me where I go. I swear I’ve tried to shake her off. I’ve tried to ignore her every time she starts talking, and I do pretty good at it, but it doesn’t stop her. Sometimes I think the more I ignore her, the louder she gets. Which is so annoying, cause she’s mean! She’s mean and so self-centered and she doesn’t even know me like that. She thinks she does but she’s far too caught up in an imaginary world. She’s invented this alternate reality and expects me to live in it with her. And everyone else too for that matter. When I make plans with someone else, she gets crazy jealous. She yells at me and makes me stay in with her. She makes me cry and she makes me wallow. She shoots me down so she can then remind me she’s the only one who can bring me back up. She hits me and she hurts me but she’s so nice when she’s done. She tells me I’m her everything and she’s all I need. She’s not that far from right. I haven’t learned to live without her yet. I say—I think, I’m working on it, but she and I both know she’s not going anywhere. She's embedded in me. A parasite in my brain, but really, we’re mutualistic. I think that I don’t mind her, but I don’t think that that’s true. It's whatever though, I can't complain all that much, not when I’ve benefitted from our friendship the way that I have. Sure, she blindsides me often, but if I get tunnel vision, wouldn’t that actually be good for me? She may tell me to hurt myself but she knows it's relief I'll find in it. I don’t like it when she makes me cry but I’d be emotionally congested otherwise. Who am I kidding though, I am emotionally congested as is. She cleans my sinuses a smidge. I don’t want her but I can't live without her. She’s the only one who knows me and that’s how it's always gonna be. Others can compete with Competition but she knows what to do to win.
By daphne gray12 months ago in Poets
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