I write because at the end of the day my writing is what humbles and grounds me and sequesters mountain of emotions and complex thoughts roaming throughout my heart, mind and soul. It is the simplest thing anyone can do because all one needs is a pen and paper, a computer or tablet. I cherish the emotion and imagery writing yields. I appreciate the many faces and hats I can wear as a writer because I don’t necessarily have to be Cheycara or Cara or Lady Deathstrike or even my new alter ego #AngryBlackGurl. I don’t have to be anyone other than the storyteller of my life and the dreamer who’s words often finds themselves lost in translation between the comforts of my memory foam pillow and the many unfinished drafts of my personal blog.
It is what defines me the most in my life. It is what brings me joy, deepens my sadness, heightens my sense of humility and causes the most frustration in my life. It picks me up. Moves me about. Sets me on my way only to bring me right back to where I started in the first place but with a new outlook on everything.
You see writing is my everything. It was my first true love. My ultimate and longest heartbreak for at times I let it become more overwhelming than it really needs to be. It is that nagging continuous train of thought in the back of my mind that keeps me up at night. It soothes my soul. Calms my fears. Gives me hope when all hope has escaped me.
The littlest most complex yet the most overlooked
prolly because its the least publicized personality trait personality trait I have that defines every crevice of my world is my ability to write.
Thanks for reading…
The Southern Yankee