From the archives: 17

by mendhak via Flickr

Sometimes, especially when I feel down, I like to go back and read things I wrote when I was a teenager, like the following entry.

i am a girl, i am controlled by my emotions. as a writer, i am a slave to them. excuse me as i live my life the only way i know how, floating towards happiness and drifting away from loneliness and cold. logic and reason are absent, no where to be found in the recesses of my little mind. i will fight the good fight and abstain from the bad. i am tiny and i am meek, a lone person among the masses. my mind and soul are mine to keep, to cultivate, to mature, and to harvest. my heart, haha, my heart has no leash, has no chain, can not be bound, tied up, or restrained. never once have i contained it, constrained it, burried it deep beneath the residue that life has so cunningly left, thick and grimy, on my inner most of beings. i am but a child, a wee 17 year old. and yet i have seen too much of this world already; maimed, blinded, and deafened by all that society has offered me. the only thing left to do is scream, shout, yell; they can not take my voice, my thoughts, my dreams. only i can halt those, silence them, repress them. but that would equal death, and am i but 17.