writing is a judgement word to describe your thoughts

or is it

You know you are gifted when you can write about nearly everything that is happening in your life or happening inside your head. I always envy people who can write the stuff I want to write, have the mind I wish I had, and think as if they’re living inside their heads. Seriously, writing has become my passion at a time when I didn’t know what to do with my life, when I didn’t know where I should be in this world, or when I didn’t know if I really was this kind of person. To feel is to touch; to feel is to write; to feel is to see one’s soul as though it is the absence of identity. I once said that it’s either you write when you’re falling in love or falling apart; maybe that’s not it. You write because it is the escape of one’s thoughts and think that it can be your reality without feeling cliche; in fact, it starts with that. Writing is to feel cringe; it is to feel you; it is to feel your mind as if it’s talking to you while you write it down. I don’t know how people come up with extraordinary words in their works. Do they just read? Do they talk to people? Or do they just know about their lives? 

I never doubted my mind, at least not in the inaccessible places of the mind where I seemed to be living more and more. I knew how my mind sometimes worked, but I did not always know what to do. I remember when I once called myself a ‘poet’ because I wrote squirm poems and thought, “Oh, I can write,” but I cannot. Maybe I can. I thought that poems could only be considered poems if they rhymed. My poems before have always been rhymes, but I knew it was squirmed. I stopped writing for a while and suddenly came back because I knew I could write better than before. But what’s the reason? Is it because I’m falling apart? Or am I falling in love? Is it doubtful if I say none of the above? I write now because I’m an overthinker or because I’m so inspired by books and authors. Mainly, I do sometimes feel forced to write because I see someone’s work being so adoring to read and think I could do that too. I am frightened when I write on behalf of my mind. I can only think when I am down or write when I am courageously loving melancholy. 

One thing is for sure: I am what I am. I can write for who I am; I can write for not being myself; I can write whenever I hear a love song; and I can write when I’m feeling nostalgically happy. The severe happiness I have is not for who I am but for what I can do for myself and for others, and writing is the only infusion one can have when it is your time to be affectionate and conversational. 

To write is to bleed.