If I were to pour my heart out on these blank pages, the inky stains of my emotions sprawling across in a cursive mess, would you read them? I have not a clue of how deep the stains may run, but they are honest and true, as tangled as they seem. I know my thoughts are not clear, and my handwriting reflects this, but if you sat and attempted to decipher my words, would you accept them?
Pouring my heart out on these blank pages is no simple task. To convey my thoughts and feelings into metaphors and rhymes, into similies and anecdotes, is such a tedious task. To aim my only weapon at the paper and pull the trigger in my heart and mind takes such strength and courage, that it leaves me exhausted and vulnerable at the sheer idea of it.
What can I write, if not the purity of creative thought? There is nothing else that brings me such power and such weakness at the same time. One idea is spelled out, while others bubble up and then deflate in an unmotivated anguish. I desire to leave beautiful marks on these blank pages. I desire to tell a story of adventure and love that end with tragic heartache. I desire to create worlds within worlds within worlds until the universe is so incomprehensible that we may explode if we attempted to grasp it all.
But I cannot...I cannot pour my heart out on these blank pages. My heart and my mind cannot pull the trigger for fear of rejection and lack of appreciation. It is a common affliction among us writers, and there is yet to be a cure. But this affliction does not make us any less of the writers we are!
So until my heart and mind can find the strength to pull the trigger, I will write nonetheless of my trials and obstacles. And one day, become an ired writer to inspire the masses.
![Desires of a Writer - Writing-[C]If I were to pour my heart out on these blank pages, the inky stains of my emotions sprawlin](https://image.staticox.com/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fpm1.aminoapps.vertvonline.info%2F6942%2F89d4dbc19c2a754e30fccee77fac4ed32a8bf5b5r1-768-508v2_hq.jpg)
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