“Write hard and clear about what hurts” Ernest Hemingway

To be honest, I haven’t written anything in a while. I felt like writing is useless, I felt unappreciated and I felt silly.

What was pushing me to write in the first place is that I was in pain and I felt like I need to find a way to set myself free from heartache, loss, suffering and rules. I used to feel like a caged lonely bird until I held the pen to write about my feelings for the first time. I used to cry in my room’s corner and then grab my pen and write about everything and everyone that led to my miserable situation. Even though I wasn’t very good at it, it made me relieved, and that was my purpose of writing at the beginning .

As I grew older, my issues got bigger, and the corner of my room got smaller. Thus, my writings grew better .. And I kept doing what the only thing I’m good at, having loads of paper full of mistakes and art. I kept writing for writing’s sake.

A few years later, I kept relishing my moments of glory through writing, for I realized that my paper could use a little hope and satisfaction. I never wavered in my view that writing down my feelings and thoughts could be purposeless. My poems got deeper, more inscrutable and irresistible. I felt powerful, unique and crucial to the society in a sense. I was writing for my own pleasure’s sake .

And there’s me now , how can I define myself ? I guess I have to say I’m an agonizing writer .. A few years earlier I thought I’m going to write novels and stories. However, a few years later , I decided that my writings days are behind me .. Maybe I got bored or I got rejected and ignored, all my writings about resistance of failure seem like they have been written by another person .. And as I much as I seem hopeful and positive now, here I am again writing to get of this pain somehow.