#18

"We empty ourselves to be filled with God. Even God cannot fill what is full."
-MOTHER TERESA

"What is true about you?"

Every time I see the question, I fill up with fear. What is my answer going to sound like? Will it be smooth and transitional? Jesus, what am I even going to say? What makes me feel most alive is something that I cower away from the most. I don't write because history has showered us with hundreds of other great puppeteers of the words. My own friends can even pen a beautiful paragraph or two. Complete strangers in classes being published and expressing their love of the word. At the risk of sounding idiotic and vain, I have no fucking idea where I fit in. I'm just a girl who knows how to write about life, experiences, and the jargon in my mind. It's where I come to figure things out (or at least make a really good attempt), to process, and to see growth. Fifteen year old me finished a notebook a lot differently then twenty-two year old me. It's where I come to rejuvenate and forget about the world for a little while. No one can touch me here and it's a place where even myself can't forsake and sin it with dishonesty. It's a time to sit, be quiet, and dive in to the great ocean that is me (or you). I tell myself often to never forget why I started writing. That once upon a time nobody even knew that I wrote or could form a decent sentence for that matter. Years of compliments didn't give me a big head, it gave me fear and pressure. While age has led me to be deeply grateful for the gift of orchestrating words, I often feel cramped by the audience. If I write this will they still think I'm a good writer? If I'm such a good writer how come nobody ever comments on anything? What is this fuckery? It became less about writing for me and more about writing for the reader. The words suffered, which ended up in me suffering (sometimes I would even cry at night because I just "wanted the words back"). So here's to a new me, a new time to explore the words, and be deeply inspired by the fact that you never stop evolving as playwright of these delicate letters. You don't need a bad day, a complicating love, or a loss to fill up the space with material. All you need is the confidence to speak and to speak truthfully.

With that being said, what I know is true about myself is that I have no idea how to be anyone but me.
A work in progress but me, none the less.

Welcome to it.

xo.
L.