Words ebb and flow, just like the water to the sea. Words have a rhythm. Our words have their own unique song & dance, unlike any other. The dance in my head is exhausting and the song is loud on repeat. But that is where they stop. Sometimes we struggle to put pen to paper, to exhale the words and breathe them to life. As a writer, as a person of the written word, when our craft becomes a battle, we are in strife with ourselves. The discord rampant in our heads make a display on our faces, and maybe throughout our entire bodies. I must write in order to breathe. I write to find my peace. I write to heal, to break down, and to find myself all over again. I need to emote through this avenue as much as I need the air that goes in and out of my lungs. So when the mind jams up, my soul is confused. There will be an inevitable deluge of words in the near future. I do not fear it; I will keep attempting until the mind can find the key to unlock the gated & guarded song and dance. This is a safety, I know it. It's protecting itself. I will spill onto the screen when the words are ready. I look forward to it, I will end this frustration, and I will remind myself: it's a process.
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