Uncensored

Hours and hours spent writing and pouring my soul into words that fill page after page. Days lost to relieving moments that I try to capture and portray to those who were never there. Each detail matters. Each word carefully chosen. A story full of life and heartache, reaching the eyes and hearts of strangers who otherwise would have never known I existed.

Being read is more important than being published. But getting published means being read. I teeter on the edge ready to plunge headfirst into the unknown. A world of authors that are more literate than I will ever be. I want to share my experiences, giving them purpose. Connecting to others who might benefit from hearing the words they were already feeling but couldn’t compose.

I hit submit a little too quick. I edit but my edits need edited. My words are raw and unapologetic because they are my truth. A lifetime of being censored and I finally lost the desire to please all those around me.

I write because I want to be real. I want to be exposed. No longer dressed in palatable attire chosen by another. Not motivated by ego, but authenticity. I put my words out there willing to be torn apart for flaws I may not even know are there. In hopes my genuine tone speaks louder than the dialect I was raised on. I want growth but not at the expense of my individuality. I strive to be better without editing myself out of my own story.

Perfection is not my goal. My success is measured in the number of lives impacted and united through my formulation of words, not by financial gain. If being published means living in censorship, then I will remain unheralded and free. Submitting each imperfect piece after piece.