How I Became a Writer and Poet,
a Complete Amateur ✏️
Who consciously wonders why today panned out the way that it did or why we feel the way that we do? Such passion lives in us. Some call this love, ambition, success, thrive, risk, achievement, and commitment just to name a few. Some know exactly what they want and go for it. I on the other hand had no clue I wanted to be a writer. Just as simply as a writer writes a story not knowing how it would end my relationship with writing has been similar to that and it all started with a broken heart.
It doesn’t matter his name, how long the relationship lasted, or even the reason for the break-up I had many after the first one. The reoccurrence didn’t stop there. I was a broken record each time a new part of my heart cracked and the stitches from the wounds that had “healed” were torn again.
Words had always been easy to come by for me, I always had so much to say. As most people whether they are best friends, family, acquaintances, or strangers repeated facts and melodrama of a lovesick girl gets old pretty quickly. Unless you’re famous and have some kind of status your story, although possibly completely different, still follows one of three plot lines: a terrible break up and never speak again, there was never any chemistry from one side or the other, or that one fine rarity in which friendship still works (but write a story and talk to a person and these plot lines are nonexistent😉).
So what does a girl do when she can no longer depend on someone to listen to her anymore? Well I found a computer, silence, and free time and began to write. All of my feelings, memories, and even hope poured into the computer screen and became a distant part of me. Writing soon became a therapeutic way to vent, to tell all.
I found myself noticing my conscious restrictions between the paper and myself divided by what I was willing to write and what I wasn’t, the abstract ideas I saw in my life and the mistakes I had made. A pencil never writes what isn’t said, just like a piece of paper never judges the reflection that the writer creates.
What initially began as emotional and chaotic rants soon began to mold into concise and formed poetry. The dark imagery and innocent thoughts right before bed became characters and plot lines for my fiction. An imagination is something that allows you to escape anything and through that escapism you find yourself and all that you have to offer to yourself and to the world.
By being emotionally strong, expressive, and honest I found inside me a creative artist with a mind that loves, laughs, and hurts and I would not be any of this had my life not effected my words.
Nightmares become sketches
of connected limbs and thoughts, dreams become struggles
that are overcome
Take a piece of paper
describe your life
I’m so glad that I couldn’t choose between
life or fiction?