There is power in words and more so in mine. Or so I believe. This power comes with certain elements and their invisible weight. That's why just like most writers, I question every string of my thoughts lined down in a shaky sentence.
Lacking.
Of a better way of capturing the emotions regulating my ink. The need to use complicated words fights simplicity in this perpetual battle for space.
So.
I still question the work I put out. Wondering if I encapsulated the exact emotions I wanted to. Overeditting. Sometimes opting to press clear when I zone out for a second and wonder who'd relate to such.
Writing is draining. It's a mental marathon of building blocks of sensible paragraphs seasoned with a pinch of getting it right.
From grammatical errors to sharing one's soul's terror.
To the art of keeping the reader's eyes following the next word onto the last. To hold them hostage just by dishing out creativity.
Relatability. That draws them in.
But still something can be still be missing. The flavour in any piece. It's heartbeat. From it's birth at the first capitalized letter to it's full stop. It's artificial death.
I am yet to master skills needed to shamelessly claim my place among skilled poets. Yet to master the art of proper storytelling so I can spew a couple of short stories.
The idea of wielding a rainbow literally.
This writing thing ain't for the weak. Yet it accommodates the compromised. The unwanted.
Taken in the CBD with no intention to plans to spice up such a post but here are!
BQ.