Two Years Later

Lately, I've been feeling the urge to write.

Unlike many of my wonderful friends who write, I battle writer's block. Awful, painful, writer's block. It prevents me from finishing stories from fear of being cliche. It stops me from starting an essay because of the possibility of it being bad. It looms over me, whispering deadly phrases like "don't you wish you could... but you can't," and "why can't you?"

I used to say, "I will be a 'writer' when I get paid for my writing." I now have been twice, yet I refrain from calling myself a writer or an artist. I hold back, fearing something that is both inside me and floats around me.

I read my work and I feel ashamed. A word spelled wrong, reminds me of my third grade teacher, who said I couldn't spell... but more so I remember the story my mother repeated for years.
I want to be heard, yet simultaneously am afraid of the repercussions of people hearing what I have to say.

So today I am starting from scratch, I will just write, I will express myself without hiding the parts that might cause ripple.

Being behaved will get you an A but it will not get you noticed.