Why do I write?

I started writing poems when I was a child. I lived in a small town where like-minded people were nowhere to find.

Growing up, I found myself struggling with thoughts, emotions and feelings which I couldn’t share or explain to anyone. Probably most of them wouldn’t understand and some of them were just trying to get through the hard life which enveloped their days and thoughts.

This mainly made me suffer in silence unaware of the beauty the pen can bring me.

Once I laid down my soul on a paper for the first time, I just couldn’t live without it anymore. It was like having a best friend with you all the time. A friend who really listens, feels and remembers.

It was also a great way for me to look back at my own thoughts and feelings from which I was able to see if I’ve grown and how much I’ve learned.

I find beautiful to see how stronger and different I’ve become in the last few years because writing helped me a lot during the lockdown and in the feelings of depression. (If you wish, you can read more about How writing helped me with depression in my last story.)

To write was like getting out of prison after twenty years. My soul was held in captivity of my body and the only time it peeped out briefly was on the paper. This kept me going because I could see my soul for just a second. Even if it was angry, I saw that it was alive, it had feelings and that is all that mattered.

I never wrote in hopes of being published, recognized or something similar. I just wrote. I write. For me. For the sake of my soul.

P. S. I would love to hear why do you, lovelies, write.

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