Sometimes, I want to show my writing to the world, literally scream at the small shell surrounding my being. Other times, I want to keep all the things I wrote to myself and show it to no one. There is a distinct line, I would know that moment whether I want to publish it as a blog post or not, but not a specific criteria or line which this choice is based on.
This is different from a journal or private writing and topics.
It is not the writing itself, because they all seem similar, not sure where the distinction came from. I don’t know until the end whether it should be shown or not.
Some writings are too bare and painful, even for myself to re-read so I hide it.
Other writings are packages of embarrassment of my own soul and mind, and I don’t want anyone to witness it, seeping through into the words.
Words are a powerful thing. It is a weapon, and I know this more than anyone, because I know how much it can hurt, how much it can save you.
I want to live like the words, but not be it, I want to keep having the two types of writing on my laptop, those shown and not shown. Time can sometimes change the mind and heart like flipping a coin.The writings you promised yourself never to show can easily come up in public place.
I am writing again tonight.