“Who do you write for?”, I asked. “People“, he replied.
“You can’t write for others.” I said. “Disagree“, he responded.
“It wouldn’t be you if you did agree“, I thought, then sighed knowing this was his prelude to one of his coveted debates.
This little text convo got me thinking.
I’ve ONLY EVER written for MYSELF. I write because I love reading what I’ve written more then anything I’ve ever read.
Perhaps this makes me sound an utter egotist. Let me explain…
When I write, it’s like my heart unraveling onto a sheet of paper. It’s not that the writings are brilliant, well-edited, or even comparable to the best writers of our times. It’s just that when I write, I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s like I get to create every dream, from the ground up. When I write, my heart is described in alphabetical form. And then, it’s there in front of me, and I get to read it—I get to read my heart out loud.
It makes my spirit soar. It makes my fingers feel like gold and cayenne magic.
I am my own favorite writer. I don’t think this is politically correct, or humble like I was raised I should be. But it’s the truth.
I’m surprised when anyone likes my writing. Because it’s so personal, it’s hard to understand that others have gone through near exact experiences that I have survived. That’s why I like to share what I write, because sometimes we need to read someone else’s heart, to understand our own.
Who do I write for? I write for myself. I always have, I always will. It gives me the deepest pleasure that no boy, gold or love could ever come even near close to.
I’ve noticed, when I write for myself, I am able to help, change and entertain others.
So when you read my writings, think not what my heart meant…..but rather,
what your heart felt—because my heart…