So I've been writing a bit lately.
Well, mostly editing things I've written in the past.
Lines I used to think were neat, are now gone.
Because I bought a dictionary.
When I was in high-school I used to get so mad at my dad when I would write something and he would edit it and then tell me that one of my favorite lines,"doesn't make sense."
He was right. Of course.
But I still wish that translating my thoughts into words was easier for me.
Part of me tries to not care so much if I'm understood or not.
But another part of me knows that being misunderstood can suck.
I sometimes attempt to write about my emotions.
Sometimes I attempt to write without emotion.
And I still get too attached to words and lines I've written and end up stuck in that metaphorical tree I've been climbing for the last three stanzas.
So I've been trying to be more liberal with the delete button. And it feels good.
Because sometimes I'll write day after day and after all the deleting, rephrasing, repurposing, crying, re-illustrating, self-ridicule, reading, asking myself what it all means, deleting, reconstructing, reviewing, deleting, laughing, researching, soul-searching, cringing, thesaurus lurking, day-dreaming, coffee-bingeing, mind-bending etc.
I end up with two kinda, maybe, good-ish lines.
And maybe, at some point, I might show them to someone, maybe.
And then a kaleidoscope of emotions blossom within me.
And then I hear the blessed words.
"It's getting better."