Face Punches & Forgiveness

Having writers block is stressful, “like a deadly pen pal you talk to once a year;” yes I stole this quote from Supergirl. I’ve said that “I think my writing hates me and I think karma has fated me to be museless and restless”— I hope this doesn’t hold true for long. Writing these essays is hard, like I put a piece of me into the words and leave myself hanging on the page: exposed. I think my writing is read into more than it’s needed. Think my words are exaggerated to fit each mold. Think my words are not enough to express the ever-likely happenings of life.

I am a teen wolf, walking into sleepy hollow, like I am the grimm awaiting the big bang theory of the fandom. The fandom saved me. It made me see holy lights and blessed my thoughts like I would be given a chance at freedom. My writing suffered and I pledged allegiance to the fiction. It was me versus the 100 chances I never took, and I fired back as good as I got. Pet projects see me archiving on my own and I remember eyes watching me; hawk vision and all that jazz.

The first time I realized I liked writing, I was in the fifth grade and it helped me work through the machinations of being bullied. The first time I realized writing helped me, I was in the 10th grade and it was a relief to create stories with my friends back then and write new worlds galore. The first time I realized writing was good for me was every time I placed ink on paper or stabbed at a keyboard because I questioned myself endlessly.

I have a friend with anxiety, and I don’t know how to help them. That hurts me, so I just keep in contact and use cheesy lines from a made up language in order to be a good friend. I hope it is working, but I’m not sure and that worries me. I don’t know proper protocol or what to say that will help and I hope my words never come off as hurtful or pressuring.

I don’t know how to ask for forgiveness. My prayers seem like little messages in bottles set out to sea never reaching their destination, or at least I don’t know. Maybe my writing is deaf, so it cannot hear my pleas of come back to me. Maybe my writing and I have grown comfortable with each other. We are okay going without pants at home and morning breath isn’t so bad if the ink that flows through my toothpaste comes quickly. I don’t know how to fix these new terms that my writing and I walk. Feels like I am doing a dance on a tightrope, heart pounding irregularly and itches that can’t be scratched.

Look mom! A dog. This begins my nostalgic breakdown into forever made now, stalling and foreshadowing, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I am distracted.

My writing and I don’t talk anymore. I don’t know what forgiveness is or how to ask for it. Maybe if I personify it well, we can do the whole make-up sex saga and get it out of the way. I mean after all everything is easier to write when you turn it into a face you can punch.

Six down, forty-six to go…



8 thoughts on “Face Punches & Forgiveness

  1. I think that writing comes from “getting off your ass and writing” as Deborah Santana wrote. It’s not always going to be great and I like that you’re always honest, it’s that authencity that will move you forward as you keep on keepin on. Keep writing! Carmen from Unleashing Your Inner Chingona

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You would be surprised how many writers are suffering from the same writers block. We could force ourselves to write but then how moving would those forced pieces be? Keep waiting…when the dragon is unleashed it will be fierce!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ha Ha! Dragons!!!!!!! Where!? I can’t wait! Josie? You can’t just say dragons like that and not have me think GoT!!!!! Lol.
      Ikr, sometimes inspiration is small and sometimes it’s a bulldozer attacking. No matter though I guess at all times we must just aim to share in our writing and then it will procure its own inspiration…

      Liked by 1 person

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