Dear inner writer,
The voices bouncing around my head are making me dizzy and the thought of doing anything except be idle makes me nauseous. I throw these words onto the paper, but do I even know what they really mean? What they’re really saying? Worn out and overused, I collapse in on myself.
People praise my scattered thoughts as though something new has been forged from the hellish flames of my fervent mind, yet I don’t see it. They say, “wow, that was beautiful,” but did they really feel that in their heart’s? A world without writing is a dark desolate nothingness and I can’t go back.
This earth is plagued with the unsightly forces of humanity. Stained by deceit and judgement, I look for an escape and if my only weapon to wield is my ballpoint sword and blank white shield, then I will be ready for battle.
“Everything carries me to you” - Pablo Neruda
I resented writing for a while and I griped about its effect. Why did it always make me feel the way I did? Why did it make me feel at all? I knew it was a part of me but I didn’t let myself understand that until further down the evermore complicated road.
Writing is the release valve on a pressurized pump. With each new word and phrase, the force dwindles and there is nothing more relieving. Like lifting the earth off from Atlas’ shoulders.
As I feel the sanity and solidity of this world slip through my fingers, I can’t seem to get a grip. Sometimes things are beyond what I can comprehend and there is no way around that.
“Raise your words, not voice. It is the rain that grows flowers, not the thunder” - Rumi
It carries an overwhelming affect and my heart can’t help, but overflow onto the paper. With the ink as my blood it splatters down on the page in sporadic fits of inspiration, like a mad man I scribble until the last “i’s” are dotted and the “t’s” are adequately crossed. One heavy sigh concludes the session and I know there is more to come soon.
The ability to create marks a triumph over all the evidence to the contrary. To live and to breathe is a foot all in itself. The odds are stacked against each and every one of us and existing is the greatest gift the universe could give us, so why not rejoice with the splendor of the written word and express ourselves in every way possible?
Never show your cards. The combinations you’ve been dealt are your own and to open yourself up fully is to reveal your hand. Writing allows me to shade my cards, but illuminate just enough to alleviate the ambient questions
“A heart’s a heavy burden” - Calcifer
It scares me, the intensity of my words and of the feelings within. There is no greater power than in emotion. Able to tear apart and build back up, its two-faced nature terrifies me, yet still I feel.
No two pieces of writing are the same and like snowflakes they fall all over the world, giving different meaning to each person who sees them.
“I closed my mouth and spoke to you in a hundred silent ways” - Rumi
I implore that you keep writing. I beg that you continue to bleed black and blue blood onto the pages of the world and prove to the society we inhabit that we are a force to be reckoned with and that no one and nothing will tear down our fortitude.
I enter into a new chapter of my life and I see that we have become one and the same, finally. I resented you for years, but now I embrace you with open arms and the wingspan of a soaring eagle.
“Happiness can only exist in acceptance” - George Orwell
You are me and I am you. Till the end of time we will be a team and I will never forget you. I will never leave you.
Never forsake yourself my friend and never doubt your ability. There is a world of wonder and understanding and I know you can do it. You will always write and you will always flourish. Nothing can tear you apart and nothing can pull you down. The universe is at your fingertips.
“Do not go gentle into that good night” - Dylan Thomas
Sincerely,
You