The First Step
I have been lazy. I have been a bad writer. I have let you down.
For much of my life I was in this perfect balance of turmoil and raw emotion. I was angry and my emotions were flowing through my veins guiding my fingers across the keys. They wanted to be heard because they wanted to be dealt with. But the harder I pushed them back the more beautifully they sang across the page. My pain was my inspiration. My isolation was my voice. I clenched my fists at the world and the world burst back with a shattering voice that I could translate with ease.
The wee hours of the night were my friend. My computer would glow on my face with a warm embrace while I bled words onto the screen until I was empty and exhausted. Every poem was a twist of hope and hate. I was the worst kind of angry because I didn’t even know why I was angry. Life had tossed me some shitty dice and poetry was my medicine.
So I did the worst thing a writer can do.
I got happy.
I met the love of my life.
I got my shit together.
I stopped playing the blame game.
I never was able to write about love and happiness. I was a dweller not a dreamer. I thought that maybe it was because I had never been in love and I thought happiness was stupid. But apparently it is just an emotion that I don’t have words for yet. I spent so long harnessing the tornado of angst as my weapon for words that I don’t know where my happiness ebbs from. It’s a deeper feeling. Anger lingers on the surface, eating away at you until you have to unleash it. But happiness settles in your soul like an ember that warms from within.
I guess this is the first step, right? Acknowledging the problem.
My name is Danielle and I fell off the writing wagon.
I’ve been lost in my photography expressing my happiness visually. Because it is easier. But not because it is the only way.
This is a promise to try. Inspiration is clearly not going to strike so I am going to have to go find it.
Wish me luck.
Danielle the Slacker