I Just Want To Write
I just want to write. It’s in me. A part of me. Like my flesh, my bones, my blood. Sometimes, like now, I have nothing to write about and so I just waffle and rant but the writing, it must come out.
Each day I pour forth on my writing pad. An artist of sorts, I await inspiration. Sometimes it comes, other times it hides, waiting for me to find it. Often an impossible game, one I can’t hope to win. Hope. Win. Can’t. Can. CAN.
Rant, ramble, roam. Words, roaming, wandering, searching for a destination where they fit seamlessly, effortlessly, beautifully. So seldom does this happen. My brain kicks in, my fears take over, my ego presides.
Don’t judge me negatively, even if you think it shit.
Don’t praise me falsely, especially if you think it shit.
Say nothing. Say something. Give me acknowledgement. Ignore me. Acknowledge me not.
I’m torn. Held this way and that. Ripped asunder. A writing demon, my perpetrator.
And then, one magical, lyrical moment arises and the sun beams down on the paper, the Gods infiltrate my senses and the music plays out on the page. One beautiful, worthy, contented piece. Just one. Until the next time the sun shines.