This inspiration is different. It’s not from gratitude from a lesson learned, it’s not from the chaotic pain that lesson caused. Is it from fear?

I have so many words inside of me. They keep flowing through me at random times like music notes through a cello string .I have this enormous urge to put ink to paper.

My muse is so different. Like a mirage through the sand, I fear it will fade into the sun with just a slight gusty wind.

So many sentences blended together inside of me. I am trying to put them in order, arrange them, make sense of them all. These words consume me like you’re mouth consumes my skin.

Is this fear that inspires me? This is new. This is different. Most times...All of these times, inspiration has come from the burst of pain that exploded from my center. It spreads all through me bringing me to my knees, unable to speak, unable to walk. All I have is ink to paper. It’s all I have to ease the pain.

But no this is not why. I’m not on my knees consumed by my pain. I’m halfway there, halfway to the sun gleam on my face. But with this doubt on my mind. My muse confuses me, I don’t know if it will fade in to the sky.

You’ve inspired eight pages so far, all the words scattered through all the notebooks scattered in my space. Random words and random sentences. Scattered. You are the reason why. My Muse, I’ve decided to name you.

The words are so loud that they scare me. They fight they’re way through my hands. But my hands are not fast enough and I forget. I forget the feeling I wanted to remember. I know then that I want these word inside me. I Want the words that make sense to it all. Oh you are so different. This inspiration is from fear. Fear that I’m just not right to write in your book. Oh but I have all these words and all these sentences that make no sense. Ink to paper is all I have. It’s  all I have to ease this inspirational fear.

I’ve just been lost. I’ve been lost this whole time. Floating through the years. I’ve been standing still and going back. It’s always the same. The same with different characters.
Ive been lost looking for my home. Somewhere to rest. I’m just so tired of fighting, tired of being lost. I just need to rest a little while and find myself. Whoever that might be. There’s so many false layers to remove.
I  miss you. You made sense . You just were. What you said was who you were. What you did is who you were. You Left this last layer uncovered and left me feeling lost. Open and unsure of who I’ve been and who i am. Every decision is doubtful, more than normal. Every intuition is questioned. Every good just doesn’t feel right anymore, the bad feels deserving. I’m just so tired of being lost.
I’ve been floating through the years way before you. Unsure of who I am. Placed a layer day by day, year by year, pain by pain, layer over layer. I lost myself with in myself. You left me bare and uncovered and I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m so lost.