I’ve probably written more pieces in the past month than I have for the past two years, to an extent that I am able to create my own noise and surprise even myself with the sudden outbursts. I always thought that I lost my touch with words during my writer’s block, that in between thinking and jotting it down, my passion to do it has somehow tiptoed beneath the cracks, which never made it to actual ink. I felt a lot like my passion never showed up in between the stitches of all the letters and words I write. Now that I think about it, I think it was all my fault. I think I barred my own doors and suppressed all the splurges by thinking too much of what people thought of my words. Would they think of me as shallow or deep? Would I be able to shoot an arrow straight through their feels or miss by a mile of the target? Would I be a cliche? Would they like what they would read?
Write as if nobody is going to read it. Write as the words come out, write with the wrong punctuations, write with ease, write with mixed up spellings or irregular capitalizations. Just let it out, just let it all out. It is when the words are natural, naked, unmasked that they are the most beautiful. Proofreading comes after.