Back in high school, I started to write poetry just so I had a place to express myself since I wasn't comfortable doing so to others. Alone, angry, sad, depressed: you name it, I was it. However, ever since I decided to fully become a writer, I started having this dream. In this dream, there's a boy, a younger me, sitting alone in a room that's overflowing with balled-up papers. On each piece of paper was written a different negative thought, proclamations of lesser worth and fear. They pile up around him and keep him rooted in place while he keeps adding to the pile. I've always watched from a distance, unable to reach out to him and talk to him. That, or I just didn't want to because I was always afraid of what he would have to tell me. Well, I'm listening now. I'm ready to hear what he has to say. I want to give him peace and let him know everything is going to be okay.