The blank page, a white box on the screen that will judge me for any little detail out of place. A place where I’m supposed to find my self-worth is so empty and vague.
I mean- I feel like I’m looking over a cliff, instead of looking up, there is only the bottom. Can I fly? Can I break Newton’s law or would I be caught and dragged down?
I don’t even know if I’m good at this anymore, my confidence fell behind for some time now. Yet the blankness looks me in the eyes, I try to avoid the awkwardness, looking at the minor distraction, major distraction- anything to have a bit of bliss.
I hate it. I hate it so much that I hate myself. I scream I’m delivered, let the redeemed say so, but my depression came back from the grave gnawing on my mind. I tried muster just enough confidence to try but only to try because I feel like I can’t.
I’m so uncomfortable… notice these words are tossing and turning. I am very uncomfortable in myself… it disturbs me.
I buried it alive every time I wake up. No one could see this- no one should see this, raw emotion- no one. Do you forget that art is an expression? Sometimes its that bad but filling this particular blank page felt good. Why can’t a white page just be that, a simple white page?
Peculiar Parables 