SHIFT

One thing about being a writer is the experiences of blocks and lavished temptations within my own being. I feel as i am fraud as i write down these letters onto my paper with fingers that do not even look like mine. These words on these keys leave nothing but the noise of *clack, tap, clack* with every word that appears in mind.

Lavished Temptations you say? What can be so tempting then the sound of his cold voice ringing in your field? I ask as as I imagine the intensity of his body movements with mine. Fraud you say? You have always been, a character, playing into the hands of the wicked who knew no boundaries. Writer's block? More like writers' frights, you are running away from the darkest truths of what I am and what I could be because of the darkness i had seen.

"There are more things to do than just fester, why do you cry when it's been years" I tell myself, " I must create what my soul finds important, but yet I find my ego holding importance onto the actions of these empty bodies".. "It seems to me like you have lost your way my dear, why not let go and feel the weight of your world disappear?" " How can i if i am depended upon, i have too much to do, too much to see, too much to build to let it go, I am just so angry." " You are weak for giving excuses on why you are not letting go of something damaging, you used to be so strong and confident. No one dared to fuck with you and if they did, they never did again. Who are you now? why are you even alive in this body if you can't keep up?" " Maybe ending your life would be better than keeping it, you don't bring anything to this world, you take up to much space, just end your suffering, it will get better after you die, death is non-existent anyways" the voices playing out the shame and doubts of self-inflicted punishments, the burning questions of repeated awareness. Wanting to see pass the world, yet I find myself stuck in the world. I never noticed that I was missing until I realized I was lost, now I prefer to settle into the silence than act out my aggression through violence.

To be a writer, its more than just fantasies. To be a writer, is to be a warrior within the games of life, words are what matter. To be a writer, the darkness is your friend as much as it is your enemy. To be a writer, you see the deepest scars and admire the beauty within them all. To be writer is to fight for all......

a moment of pause

" Is there something that you are missing?" the voices come back again, "don't you love to hear the moments of your pleasures? the moments where they desecrate your temple with their habits and ill intentions?" my body is shivering as i keep typing, i have to stop. But for how long? Running away will last another year, just stop fighting. "Don't you like what they do to you? Haven't you felt alive since you felt their touches?" It was never supposed to go so dark.

a moment of pause

I am way over my head, the imposters are coming back, I can see them battling for my throne as I sit on the sidelines and watch my kingdom crumble. "How far have I strayed to give shelter to these fools?"

losing feeling, losing sight, how can I have allowed my kingdom to be destroyed in front of my eyes? The fiery flames of my anger, seems so docile and blue, but as i keep walking, the more I can feel, the more I hear my people scream, the more i see the color orange, the more I see the destruction wanting to take hold, the fierier I become, the less I see blue the more I see red. I see no one but my pain and can't help but get enraged "Tsk Tsk, you are a failure, you have done nothing to show how you can succeed. Single mom of one and 24 with nothing to show for it but scars" it's all lies, and I know it, but yet I find myself grabbing on to the noise, "what a beautiful tar-like diamond."

I grab ahold of my own destruction, as I see the battles that continue in front of me, I look at the diamond. " I have hated your heart of gold since the day you got yourself in the wrong room" As i stare with no expression onto the diamond, the tar starts to harden. My face tightens as my eyes lowered.

"Why couldn't you have screamed or run? You are so much smarter than that, you knew better than be in that" My hands tremble at the touch of this diamond, not out of fear but out of anger and shame. " You are an idiot for trusting anyone" as the tar harden, my body tensed, the fires surrounding me becoming magenta, the more it hardens the bigger the flames became. Then, it cracked, revealing light within. My flames stop, they start to lower and come back to my blue. "How do you really look diamond?" As curiosity struck, I peeled back the harden tar. Tears started to fall, my anger resurfaces, I quickly gather " Don't you cry, crying won't get you anywhere, crying is not strength" My soul could not take it, "Let me live" it whispered. I gasped, it broke and I shriveled to the ground. My chest hurts, the room is spinning and everything is blurring. I feels like I am floating, my face is loosening but my neck is tightening, my mouth opens for a scream: I can barely breathe, but I hear nothing....

To be a writer, it is more than fantasies and love stories. To be a writer, is more than just analogies and expressions. To be a writer, is to look at your ugly and still say "You are beautiful" and believing it to be true. To be a writer, is to take what made you feel ugly and making it feel beautiful. It does not matter how far you stray, as a writer you find your way.

The shift commences