Today, in my ordinary life, I sat down to participate in my everday lessons, giving my messed up head the direction of focusing on my work.
Pretending to write things that I got told to do, but in my inner self, completely distracted from what I was supposed to look at.
I was a writer, I could finish my work in a matter of minutes. I did not need a point to start, for as words could take their flow as soon as I grabbed the pen, and nor could I find a point to stop, because my instinct would not permit me to stop being passionate about my work.
The issue with my passion for words, was that I would never write about things that I got told to. I would drift away in my writing, for as there was a confusion in my mind itself.
I’m aware that it is harder to write for the writer than it is for the ordinary individual, for as the individual can only share the work he thought about once.
The writer on the other hand, had a creative mind with fiery fingers, that told him to write about God and the world and how the skies slowly touch the ground and carry the souls of the dead within.
I wanted to write about pain and pleasure and I wanted to make clear to the reader of how I thought.
But oh my dear soul, who is afraid of being misunderstood, afraid of loving, afraid of loosing, afraid of being forgotten by the reader.
My soul wanted to use words that serve as an imprint. I wanted to burn my work in the reader’s mind. I wanted to create a work that would leave a thought in the reader’s mind even after having read several more.
But I refused to do so, for as it is a college essay and I do not need a grade for how I write. For as the grade is an opinion of my teacher, and as much as I like my teacher, I still won’t permit her to make my work get dirty by a simple percentage.