I have been dying to write something so strong and emotionally charged that it would in fact tear the paint off the walls.


However, all I have are these blogs.


I don’t know what it is that is stopping me from just diving in and pouring it all out. I am sure that fear plays a pretty big role. Also, I know that if I start writing something like that, it will be hard for me to pull myself away from it. I don’t have the luxury of just writing until my three typing fingers bleed and my neck cramps from the angel of repose.


I don’t know what I want to write about either. Where do I point my finger down in my “crappy handed life” and say this is the spot I should being taking my cues from?


I want to write so you can hear me and be proud of me.


Do I write your story? Do I even pretend to understand the inner workings of that genius mind of yours and put down what I think your thoughts should be?


I can’t tell your story. Although at times I felt that I have seen through your eyes and I can understand things as you understand them, but I haven’t lived with your inner voice in my head in years. I miss it terribly.


Besides, I have to tell my own story. But which one? Can I even say that my life has had powerful, paint off the wall stuff?


I mean, it is what it is…can I really assume that there is some beautiful deconstruction in my life? Could my life give comfort to someone else?


Yet I toss these ideas in my head that states that I have to write something powerful.


I don’t know why.


Maybe I need to just write and let others decide if they need to repaint.