Once more she pulled out the rose covered journal and pen engraved with a dove.

She began writing and soon stopped because her writing freedoms had become oppressive in their demands that she express something specific, something from her heart, something unapologetically absent blindfolds for those with sensitive eyes and constitutions.

She wanted to sing or dance instead but no longer knew where she could go to explore those moments alone. The thoughts she used to write she did no longer because they were no longer her thoughts alone.  The work set before her to accomplish felt insurmountable and impossible amongst the sense that every move made was under microscope.

And although creativity happens any and everywhere it begins first in the mind where hers has waned as she finds herself cowering in her own home and beneath the covers at night wondering what stealth like jokes would be made next with her words that once leaving her mouth, pen or computer had become public domain whether published or not.  She was tired in a way she knew most would never comprehend.

Picking up the pen she began again in a diary-like format to clear her thoughts.

I don’t feel sorry for myself or anyone else yet grief comes to visit. I am fighting now, fighting to write, because I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want to share my heart, be truthful or real but most of all, I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to believe yet listen to voices that soothe because I have no one else to listen to. I don’t want to add my voice to the crowd because the crowd as it is has little concern for what does not meet their agendas. I don’t want to ask for help because then my heart will need to admit it’s broken. I don’t want to want because deep down know there is nothing I do not have. I am exhausted from swimming through emotions only to float on my back to pray that a tsunami take me away.  I want to be emptied, to have my heart and wings returned to be gifted to my offspring, that they feel my passion fused with theirs in a quickening pulse when mine has ended to carry them by spirit alone as they remain on earth to light the sky in love and endless opportunities to fly.