Life is good.
I spent years, drowning, not knowing where I belong.
I spent years, struggling to make things right… for me.
I spent years, trying to not feel so utterly blank. So lost. So gray.
A couple of months ago, i started writing.
i am not sure if i can call what i did before ‘writing’ – i refer to them as ‘words on paper’.
they did not speak.
Did not paint.
Didn’t have any color.
They were blank.
As blank as me.
I stopped… for a couple of years.
I do not know exactly what made me pick up the pen again back in July… but I can say I have never been more grateful. I do believe something in my mind clicked… a final piece fell into place – and all of a sudden, my words made sense.
To me, to others.
I was no longer black and white… I was no longer gray.
Iam no longer gray.
I could paint… and I am amazed that I still can.
I do not take this for granted. I am not sure if certain things heading my way will make the blockage reappear (I am not psychic), but I sure enjoy writing… as much as I can.
This is my freedom.
My poetry… my stories… my voice.
still raw sometimes and maybe a little squeaky, but I am sure it will get smooth in time.
After all, I am just getting to know this side of me.
And this… takes time.