“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 than 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’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 near 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…