Sitting on her arse again.
If she got up. You’d see a bum print on her bed.
Pillows half pushed through the narrow gap between mattress and bed head.
That is where she sits and writes.
All her electrical devices surrounding her. Often on charge because she’s an Internet junkie.
Books and art implements covering the opposite side of her queen size bed for one.
Pens, papers, scissors.. You name it.. it’s there.
She needs to be surrounded by it to get anything out of the inside of her.
It won’t come out on its own.
Pity that isn’t really helping too much. Because she will buy more and more and more.
But she is writing more often now.
Head often in her hands.
Why am I writing again?
The stats say nobody much reads?
If only she could write in such a way people noticed but no matter how deep she dug and how painful or beautiful her truth it didn’t mean it would be seen. Yet it never stopped her.
Truth be told she was getting stuff out here and there.. That much was needed.
She’d go crazy if she didn’t. Crazier than she already was.
BUT…. A huge but in more ways than one. It doesn’t seem to help anyone else but her. Does it?
Ipad has overheated. The fan is cooling that down as she uses the lap top this time. She swaps between one and the other.
The left side of her writing ap is crowded by links to recent writings. She doesn’t even know how to keep her lap top writing ap tidy. Messiness she is well known for. Her hand writing is ineligible. Least you can read this typing. Her writing is literally her heart leaking out in her words.
She fights on though. Saying something somewhere. Even though she is not a good communicator. Actually she sucks at it. She will shy away from face to face. She sweats, anxiously and awkwardly stumbles through conversations. Getting away from them as quickly as she can.
Just to get out of her anything at all is a miracle. Procrastination could be her middle name.
She wants to make a difference. She hopes she can. But confidence is not her strong point. Perhaps the lack of it scares people away. She doesn’t write for that reason. To make people notice. She writes because inside she burns. Burns to tell it. Tell what exactly she does not know but she burns still. She already knows she isn’t good at explaining things. Heaven alone only knows some of it. But she knows not everyone tells it and she does so that to her is something. It is a strong point a something point. Not fancy she knows that too. She prays that between the lines something more is seen. So she trusts that unknown and lets it take her where it will. That unseen. And she keeps fighting on. She is a soul. She has words. She writes not based on who she and how she is but on what is deep inside her and what she has to give. That strength that fights on and keeps coming out the more she uses it. That types on and doesn’t let outer stop the inner. Despite the lack of audience. She fights on. Despite often times having nothing inside to write from. A feeling of nothingness that brings forth something.
There is the miracle right there. So she keeps on keeping on.
She is smiling. The sun shines in her window. The words have been written. Another writing to file away and another one to share. A burden seems lifted. Effort recorded. Even as her methods remain the same and/or get worse.
Than as she checks her mobile.. A message.
She opens it up. Words on a tiny screen say “beautybeyondbones liked your post”… her smile grows wider.. That’s all she needs to keep on fighting..
Steel enters her soul. Her brokenness is her gift to the world and she does the only thing she knows to do. She shares her very soul through it.