SoOo thiis one iis for me...((iidk just read iit ii guess))

Usually, ii siit down, open my journal pull out my pen and wriite. But today...ii'll speak. Today, ii'll tell you why not one poem ii've ever wriitten was for me. People constantly read my work and ask me..."where does thiis come from", "youre soOo young there's no way you've been through thiis." The truth iis...ii'm full of shiit. ii'm weak. ii'm a biitch. ii lack and that scares me. In order to enable myself and others to not focus on all that ii really am ii focus on learniing other thiings such as musiic, art, etc and other people...and how and what they are and do. ii get deep into what they are and somethiing comes over me...the words spiill and there liies another cover to shiield Destiny. The truth iis...ii am not me...ii am a twiisted rendiitiion of of the confusiing biit that iis my mother and my father; and that iis my fault...ii allow a lot of what ii've known to stiiff me iinto who and what ii am today... I am a loose cannon, and ii have no reason to be. iin my past ii was reckless wiith my actiions ((stealiing, lyiing, etc; some of whiich ii admiit ii stiill do)) in order to protect myself but now iits a habiit...much liike biitiing my hands or clickiing my teeth. But iit iis tiime to start speakiing. ii liie to my famiily, my friiend, and most iimportantly myself. No, ii am not fiine, no ii'm not just beiing me, no...riight now...ii really have never cared about much of anythiing other than what ii've wanted to do... but ii want to soOo horriibly. Honestly...ii am fiindiing me.