The blank page is an asylum for stunted creativity. I sit in front of my computer screen with my desire in a strait jacket, the words inside of me mirthlessly laughing.
I used to sit out on my balcony and stare up at the sky. The constellations mapped out before me and though I was never quite sure what I was looking for, I always found it anyway. The stars infused me with energy and reminded me of a home I know I once loved, they were quiet, they didn’t judge, and they watched me as if I was the star of my own life and they were an endless audience cheering me on. I remember I never spoke in words, but my heart spoke endlessly. I got sucker punched, saturated with the sticky world and I looked up. Things looked dark and hazy, so I traced the brilliance that clustered and twinkled in the veiled heavens. I shared dreams with those night lights. I hiccoughed fears, I may have cursed in their general direction once in a while, but most of all I missed them. I missed them because I was at a time in my life when I wasn’t seeing that I was surrounded by an entire milky way of beings who were packed in to see me succeed and to throw roses at my feet throughout my big performance.
I couldn’t see that then. I can see that now. The page is no longer blank, but the fear of failing is numbing up my fingers and so I look up again. Please, please wilt thou help me? I think the key for me will be finally realizing that the snow white page is not an indication of my frailty, but an untapped opportunity. Until then, I will just keep filling it one imperfect word at a time.
This is so beautifully written.
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