I've forgotten to write. I thought it was my passion, but no words flowed through my pen. I hardly know what or how to even we write now. I've felt like I've been under water not breathing as of late. I haven't wanted to write. I was angry about too much. I wasn't reading either. I couldn't say the last book I read. I don't dream any more.
What's the matter with me? What have I lost to get to this point? I'm so empty. No stories were bursting within me to be writ. What has become of me? I forgot why I wrote.
It's who I am- what I am. No more sorrow, it's so behind me. My anger too. What was lost has found me. I've found my reason for the pen. Its my story of what I make of myself. I don't care anymore. These are my words~ part of me. A piece the world can't take away. It makes me stronger, wiser, and powerful.
This is me!
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