words are a messy medium.
you get it right, sometimes. but you get it wrong more often than not.
it’s like scraping sentences off your soul, sometimes. shedding skin and offering it up on a silver platter.
here i am.
it hurts, sometimes, many times. to find the truth you thought you had hidden well away in your heart worm its way out through the pen in your hand. your own hand betrays you, sometimes. you’d much rather keep those words, those words, locked up inside. where no one has to see, where you don’t have to confront it.
it’s hard honesty. but it’s also healing.
it’s brave-taking and brave-giving.
it’s in the writing, the lines on the pages, i get a glimpse of myself. it’s fighting for who i am, who i want to be.
it’s a heart that beats in ink, breath that comes in lined pages.
and somedays i want to throw away the pen, place the journals under lock and key.
but i keep. coming. back.
and i’ve written about this before, yes? there’s almost an embarrassing amount of posts about writing on this blog.
but it’s been on my mind a lot lately, what with the month of writing and then the month-turned-two of not writing, and now here i am with pen in hand again, scribbling syllables down, losing and finding myself in the words.
and i’ve been asking these questions of myself. why do i write? who do i write for? what do i want to write about? what are my words for? where am i going with my writing?
and maybe, just maybe, i’m daring to dream dreams. dreams that involve words. and probably tears, because i think the best dreams probably do.
so pardon, if you find words-about-words here in this space. because i write to find my path through things, and i’m currently stumbling my way around the forest of my thoughts on writing.
(i’m also into questionably constructed metaphors. bear with me.)
and i’ve been making myself stop. stop writing words about words, hannah, because you’ve been there done that and goodness, enough already.
but this is where i am.
this is what i’m walking through.
and i want to let you walk through it with me, if you’d like.
so welcome to my forest of words and thoughts and questionable metaphors.