I used to ‘write’

There’s something about writing
Without using a pen.
It almost feels like a disservice, or a mortal sin

Maybe I’m being to observant

Lately it feel as though we are all a little too subservient.

Without ridicule I bring to the stage,
Stories of old
Come to life
They jumped out of the page

Never have I been one to become lost in a story
Always have I wondered “why do books bore me?”

Thank goodness a prerequisite for writing has never been the desire to read. Moreover and more likely, writers yearn to be heard.

I write to understand.
To understand myself
Rather than to be understood
See we can talk for hours and it will do no good.

Words are like food for the soul and I’m tired of ingesting empty calories.
I crave a connection that feedback see me
That drives me
That heals me

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