feeling at home
i feel at home with words.
from the lip’s of those that speak them, and from the ears that desire to hear them- i feel at home with those sort of people.
i’ve always tried to cultivate them, it became a competition in my mind. as if the more sophisticated the word, the more value they had.
i’ve always tried to compare them. wondered how i didn’t come up with that relatable phrase or why i couldn’t articulate imagery as well as they could.
i remember being in middle school, and posting my little poems for the internet with an anonymous pen name. they got some attention, and i felt validated at that. my words meant something- they meant i wasn’t alone in this view of life. there were others who thought similarly. it didn’t keep it’s hold.
numbers really never worked to motivate the thought that i “finally” was considered valuable. they became a competition instead of freedom for my heart.
it’s scary to share your heart. you leave it for discussion, and it’s open for opinions. i started thinking that perhaps it was best to hide those ramblings if they weren’t related to, or if the numbers of “likes” didn’t match the “greats”.
i’m learning though that numbers only are valued as much as the time you spend to count. a number is never a mirror to the passion-hearted. things that come from the heart continue to bloom, as long as the seeds are sowed.
i guess this all goes to say that if you desire to write- do it. forget the words of the shallow, the opinions of those that don’t quite understand. forget the numbers that never fulfill, and the anticipation of approval of man. grab a pen, and soar with it. write with the mentality that if it means the world for for one person all is worth it. write with the mentality that if it is for yourself, it is worth it.
we are a make-up of artists, athletes, poets, musicians, consumers of the arts, and all sorts of little image-bearers that desire to create with passion.
release that heart & feel at home.