word up.

There are so many different ways to write. There are short stories, biographies, novels, poems, songs, diary’s, memoirs. The list goes on. Words, scribbled across page after page. Words ring throughout the world in hundreds of varieties. How does one begin to write a book when the worlds written or said everything that’s needed to be said? What can I say that will be unique? What do I have to offer? I’m a simple and complex human. I have thoughts that run with the sun and the moon. But how can my words even come close to interesting. Who am I? What is Interesting? All words seem to be tainted, tainted from past lips. Passed down and reformed to fit each individual. A thought is the closest thing I have to being simply me. Although it is influenced by its surroundings it is also unique in this. But a Thought is kept to one’s self. It can be shared, but in its most simplest from can only be in the mind of the thinker. So how do you portray yourself without the world tainting you, splashing you with its influence?