I feel as if I only ever write about the darkness in my life. I write about anxiety, depression, and loneliness. I write about these things when I should be happy, and when I truly am in a good mindset. I write about these things when I should be writing about all the great wonders in my life and about everything completely wonderful that has happened to me in just the past year. I should be writing words of encouragement and poems of love and happiness to both myself and anyone who will take time to read them. I have people who love and care about me. People who I love in return. I am okay. I am happy. I am content with my life. Why should I not be?
Why is it, however, when I look inside myself I feel as though I am running in place? Why is it when I sit down to write, the only thing that flows out are poems filled with suffering, loneliness and of tension? When I sit down to write about my life, I, in the moment of creation, forget everything good and wonderful that has ever happened to me. My writing does not match my soul. I am so young, why must this be the only thing on my mind? I should be looking to the future and running towards my goals. I should be holding tightly onto the ones that bring me up but instead I clutch onto something unknown to me to bring me back down.
Thanks to @mariannewest for this freewrite!
Check out my most recent short excerpt, Defining Worth. @emms/defining-worth-an-excerpt