I am a writer (8/24 post)

 

   I am a Writer.

          Four unassuming, simple words convey more than could be put into thoughts, it swells to the brim of the mind like waves climbing coastal cliffs amidst a storm. An army of ideas and feelings pressing against the gates of imagination into the world. Lips cannot articulate the tempests of sentences, secrets, songs, and stories that swirl around in my head. So I let the pen tell them for me.

          The real and the unreal, the ideas of my own and the ones inspired by those who came before me. Adventures beyond my wildest dreams and characters I could only aspire to be. Feelings only expressed in the boughs of figurative language. Through paper and ink, black words on a white screen; I can let myself become a channel between the magic of imagination and the wand that is the pen.

     I find it too hard to think and speak. Life move faster than the time I need to properly express myself without slipping, stumbling over what I say. By tongue, I am awkward, shy, other. But by pen, I am so much more than I could ever be in the spoken world.

I am a Writer.