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keep writing

Writing is what I think confession feels like.

Here I am, baring my racing thoughts,

my half-finished stories,

my guilt, my despair, my broken parts—

here I am, asking you to love me anyway.

I write it down, expose it to sunlight,

and let the world glimpse how ugly I am—

how damaged, how full of hope.

I confess my sins with ink begetting words,

and ask that world to love me anyway.

All the feelings we’re not supposed to feel,

(the rage, the shame, the loneliness)

I admit and I let the UV rays burn away the sting,

melt the wax of my feathers,

and then I drown myself in love—

as much as I can eat,

as much as I can swallow,

as much as I can bear.

Why Bother?

Because right now, there is someone

out there with

a wound                           in the exact shape

                of your words.

-Sean Thomas Dougherty

A writer is a writer not because she writes well and easily, because she has amazing talent, or because everything she does is golden. A writer is a writer because, even when there is no hope, even when nothing you do shows any sign of promise, you keep writing anyway.
–Junot Diaz

Why do we write? A chorus erupts.
Because we cannot simply live.
-Patti Smith

To become more intimate with myself and you. To discover myself, to preserve myself, to make myself, to achieve self-autonomy. To dispel the myths that I am a mad prophet or a poor suffering soul. To convince myself that I am worthy and that what I have to say is not a pile of shit . . . Finally I write because I’m scared of writing, but I’m more scared of not writing.

-Gloria E. Anzaldúa

Give me a keyboard, I'll give you revolution.
-Abhijit Naskar

I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live...  When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make a world tolerable for others... We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth, we write to expand our world, when we feel strangled, constricted, lonely. We write as the birds sing.

-Anaïs Nin

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