Writing Process

Writing Process

I grip the pencil tight as if it is a lifeboat.
Drowning.
Drowning.
Drowning.

A piercing, squeezing pressure engulfs my head,
My warm face turns a bright, beet red.
Every ounce of energy fights back the waterfall, my eyes, a weary, weak dam.
The first drop trickles down, and the floodgates open.
Extremely overwhelmed, all I can do is pray
That no one looks up from their page.
I can feel the eyes on me, a judgy, harsh gaze.
Everyone is staring, I’ve been thrown to center stage.

Not knowing what to write,
I fear that nothing I do could possibly be right.

With a pencil to the page, I take a deep breath,
The pencil runs across the page, nonstop.
It dances through the paper, only listening to my thoughts.
I tune out the voice. The voice in my head that tells me what is and isn’t “good”
I realized that I misunderstood what it meant to write the whole time.
I don’t need to do it to please others—only myself.