flushing away

Writing is the passion of my soul. I feel the tingle of cloud nine simply staring at words printed in a book. It is the ignition to finding the truest source of myself and my being. However, especially in academic circumstances I put too much stress on the pounding of keys and creation of words. I feel unoriginal in my word choice and the complete sentences come out with the sickness of jargon. The editor who sits at a desk somewhere between my frontal and temporal lobe fires away with the red-inked pen. I can't leak the souls words without thinking about prompt and whether or not what I'm saying really matters or even make sense. While I feel extremely liberated in the idea of exploring writers and generations unknown in my English tasks, I also feel suffocatingly cramped. As a lover of the words, I can't turn in bad work and the editor-in-chief says everything is worthy of the chopping block. I know this is where I exercise shutting off connections with the galling editor (at least in the draft process) but where to begin? I have trouble forming my own ideas about writers I know nothing of and spend way too much time reading the opinions of others instead of articulating my gatherings from their words. It makes me think of a time when I would write for fun. I would write with no pressure and wrote frequently (specifically every night before I slept). I was a kid searching for answers and the lines provided space to breathe and grow. Sometimes I simply forget how much fun the act of writing is and how much of a blessing it is to have. I forget to bow my head in grace that I was chosen as their storyteller. The soul orchestrates and the words flow left and right on the screen. I cannot control everything and the mind suffers the blow to the ego upon the thought. So next time I greet my "beatpaper.docx" I'll sit with it with the utmost care and love.

I'll trust the process, believe in myself, and allow the words to change me forever.