Write.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been writing. I wrote about my day in a journal. I wrote about my pets, my family. I wrote about Christmas morning. I wrote about loved ones that I missed. I wrote what was on my heart. 
I developed a knack for creative writing in childhood and was invited to take a special class in the 6th grade. I remember learning the art of metaphor and falling madly in love. What a beautiful tool, to be able to equate human experience to that of your natural surroundings. ​
At some point between the age of 14 and 20 I learned quite well how to write and live in a way that states facts, succinctly. I learned how to write only what was needed to be read. I learned to leave the emotion I felt separate from the statements that were required. I learned how to live in a way that was socially normal, and stay within the lines. 

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At some point between the age of 14 and 20 I learned quite well how to write and live in a way that states facts, succinctly. I learned how to write only what was needed to be read. I learned to leave the emotion I felt separate from the statements that were required. I learned how to live in a way that was socially normal, and stay within the lines. 

Then about 4 years ago, I needed to express something. For instance, the way rivers flow softly around rough obstacles. I needed to be that river, and I remember being absolutely certain that someone had written something beautiful about this phenomena, and all I had to do was enough research online and I’d be able to find them. I had an internal need that I was trying to fulfill externally. There was a moment where the idea smacked me square in the jaw- why not just write it down yourself? It was so obvious.. What else could I do? I ignored it. I kept on reading more books, taking more classes, listening to more interviews, and searching for more external inspiration. 

One day the urge couldn’t be stifled any longer.. And I decided to write again what was on my heart. I decided to write the poetry that was shouting inside my mind. The poetry that wanted so badly to be put down on the page. The poetry that wanted to grow. The poetry that wanted to wake me up. The poetry that wanted to connect me to this wild universe.