I have a secret language that I speak inside my head. When I’m feeling brave, I write this way. It’s my own kind of prose, words have a rhythm and sentences flow. Phrases turn and swirl into what I like to call my butterfly language. When I’m honest and I write like this, I feel like it…
I’m afraid that the honest expression of my most vehement feelings against the things that crush my soul will (and do) make other people feel invalidated. I don’t want that to be, but at the same time, I want to be able to express myself. I don’t know if there’s room for both. I react…