The purpose of this blog, originally, was to create a public space for my writing: whether it be an article, a poem, or a journal entry, I wanted a place to share my thoughts in hopes that they are both similar and distinct from everyone else’s. Hence, the complexity of humans.
I started this blog over a month ago, the name alone took me a week to decide on and now I can’t even remember what I titled it. Of course, I’ll figure that out later. I don’t want to lose this rare moment of motivation and focus to actually put words on a page. I’ve missed these moments, deeply. Today, as I sit in a Starbucks, to which I came in search of motivation ( I found some!), I realized why I had nothing to say or write or even think about for a while now. I love writing, but I don’t want to just write an article or a poem or a journal entry. Why can’t I write all three at once? Why couldn’t my writing on my blog be as complex as myself? I had to ask myself, why am I forcing myself and my writing to mold to specific categories?
The answer, really, isn’t important. The point, though, is that I AM complex and I want to write in a way that expresses all of me. I love to write, therefore I will write. Does it have to make sense to everyone? No.
The title of this post says a lot about me already. I have experiences that I may or may not have interpreted and consequently, dealt with, in ways other’s haven’t. I am a person-of-color that identifies as male and is same gender loving with a complex personality that was and still is being shaped by the society I live in, the people I chose to be in my life and ones I didn’t, abuse, mental illness, and most importantly, love. And these are (or at least will be) my complex, funny, sad, angry, happy stories…