Writer's Block

As I reviewed the pages of my old journals from last year, I realized something. I was on that "stuff" last year. "Eating those crack berries," as my cousin Alexis would say.

The more I thought about it, though, and the more I read, I realized that I wrote with such passion last year. Such conviction in my words. I really immersed myself in whatever I was writing because I believed each journal to be a soul-searching journey in which I'd find myself. Perhaps I wanted more of a self-discovery to come from my writing as result of some subconsciousness. I found such comfort in the fact these journals--these personal writings were mine and mine alone to keep. These days, it seems I've lost that pride in my work because I so freely hand it out. Perhaps this is my own version of self-destruction in order to avoid criticism. Maybe I don't write the same now because I know people are going to read it. Then again, I freely hand it to them on request. I really don't know. But what I do know is that my writing changed. For the worse.

I wanna find the girl I was last year. I want her to write again. I need her so that I can believe again. Believe in my writing. And, ultimately, believe in myself.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.