#NaPoWriMo2020 Challenge Day 4
I’m in my bed,
Wrapped under covers.
It’s summer I know,
But somehow these blankets have become the only thing I’ve got, to snuggle with.
…
I feel a sudden pang in my heart,
And I wonder what the reason might be.
So I pick up my phone and start typing,
This.
Whatever this is…
A poem?
A rant?
An article?
An essay?
A diary entry?
I honestly don’t know.
…
But I do know
That whatever it is,
Writing will help me figure it out.
It always does.
…
I haven’t been able to write though,
Since many days now.
Whenever I pick up a pen
And try to scribble on a blank page,
It just stares back at me.
Some random words do fall out,
But nothing that makes sense to me.
…
So I scrap it all out.
And start again,
And again,
And again,
And again,
Until nothing comes out at all.
Then I go blank.
…
That’s when it gets the worst.
I start thinking I’m worthless.
I start doubting my abilities.
I begin to create this image in my mind
That if I can’t write anymore
Then what’s the point?
What is the point?
And that’s when I give up.
…
I stop trying to write, thinking, “I might have some other talents in me which might be useful.
So why writing? Why words? Why these beautifully stringed sentences?
Why these poetic devices? These similes and metaphors?
Why these long paragraphs? These essays and these holographs?”
“I don’t need them!” I begin to think.
…
I start doing other things,
Like helping mum in the kitchen,
Being a good daughter,
Start reading books,
Watching the news,
Talking about it with dad,
Helping my sis with her projects,
Being a good sister,
Helping others,
Friends, foes, and strangers,
Being a good person…
…
But whenever I go to sleep,
I feel what I felt today
Before writing this down;
A pang in my heart,
Which says that I do need those words,
Those beautifully stringed sentences,
Those poetic devices, similes and metaphors,
Those huge paragraphs, essays, and holographs.
…
I need them to talk.
Talk to myself,
And then maybe other through it.
I need them to let it all out.
All the mess that’s in there,
In my crappy brain.
…
Maybe those staring blank pages
And meaningless words,
Try to teach me something
Every once in a while.
That I need to stop trying too much,
And give myself a break.
That I need to start loving myself,
And my words, my writings.
…
Believe me I’ve tried.
And I’ve realised,
That loving myself
Is the hardest thing
I’ll ever do.
But it needs to be done.
…
And then maybe,
Just maybe, I’ll start writing beautifully.
Till then, these sudden outbursts of words
Like the one occurring right now
Are the ones I’ll have to rely on.
To say proudly, that yes
I write.
I write whatever comes to my mind.
And that these words, these beautifully stringed sentences,
These poetic devices, these similes and metaphors,
These paragraphs, essays, and holographs,
Make sense!
I hope you enjoyed reading…
… the blue diary xx