My kind of Therapy

I often sit down and think of the perfect stories in my Head, constructing them on paper however isn’t my strong suit.  In the process of converting my thoughts I lose sight of my point, the words escape me, and the overall motivation becomes crippled in the Process. I am not a writer and I don’t pretend to be, I do however find comfort in writing and using it as my strongest form of communication method.  I was once told by my English 101 teacher to that writing wasn’t for me and that I should stick to what I know best and from that day on I set out to prove her wrong. Being that as it may, I took to teaching myself all the aspects of writing and some reading, then some more writing.  Quickly I learned I lacked the vocabulary and that writing was a technique, I haven’t found my technique or writing style so I just write.  What do I write? I write anything that comes to mind, I write how I am feeling, and one comfort I am immensely grateful for is being able to write in a way that I can sometime use to get my point across.  Writing is something I am intrigued by, the telling of stories, the use of words, and the usage of how compiling words into a story can bring strangers together.


We live in the most Fascinating world where words are said to tear us apart and bring us together, the power of words can start a war and even end it.  Unlike me, a writer’s imagination holds true to captivating an audience that are intrigued by their unique way in telling their story.  While I type recklessly on this keyboard debating on where I should interject my commas, are fear that sentence structure is in need of a rest because they are four lines deep in trying to communicate my point.  Did I start my paragraph at the right point of the story? Will, I be Judged for my inconsistency? Or is my Paranoia taking over the point I am trying to make here?  In all my reasoning to myself I find it a bit weird that I write just to write.  My story may never leave my computer but at this point it helps my sanity.  I like to keep to myself and tell my keyboard my Problems because whether I like it or not, I won’t be judged, I won’t be criticized, and although Siri is lurking around with her wondering ears not even she will be able to accidentally talk my business.  They are so many ways in which we can communicate in today’s society, majority of them start with the fact that writing is a primary factor in all forms of communication, at least the ones I use.  Growing up I was never a fan of books, but I admired the form of writing in Poetry and storytelling.  As I matured I started reading books and listening to audio books and soon realize all that I was missing in life.  

Many of us rely on people to read the books, whether it be the Bible, Novel, or autobiography and give us their point of view.  To me that was the easy way out and now that I acknowledge and understand the core concept of it all I not only short changed myself but I was living my life based off another people’s opinion.  For that matter I wasted time, and resource in bettering my quest for knowledge and understanding.  The many opportunities that alluded me then, while still trying to play catch up now. The available resources in trying to find ways to get out of reading a book was more prevalent than the intrigue to read a chapter then, Spark notes, google, and Wikipedia captivated my mind so much so that the last-minute quizzes seemed like a Piece a cake.  As a sophomore in college when Rosenthal told me I should stick to what I know I kept up with Oedipus Rex, I wanted to be a part of the Conversation so I read, I researched and read some more to understand the crazy world of Shakespeare and in no time, I was a part of the Conversation participating and acknowledging each character’s role.  Upon Finish, the Study of Oedipus my five-hundred words essay warranted a B+ because I know that A would be hard to come by, knowing I proved her wrong.  I treated that her B+ as my A, in short, I put my best effort forward because I was being diminish without giving a chance.  I read the Story, I made an effort to understand what was going on and though that could’ve being her motivational technique to getting students to do their best but it worked for me and I now understand, that kind of motivation ruffle my feather. It gives me the extra boost I need to conquer such fear whether I am being told I’m not sufficient or have the capability to understand something I fight for me and my best interest because life hasn’t taught you much, one thing is for sure we are our worst enemy and our best advocates.

How Has writing help me from a personal standpoint?  Many times, I get in a heated debate over a topic I am passionate about and I want to tell the naysayers, negative Nancy’s, and the vibe killers how to read my middle Finger in the most Professional way.  I catch myself end the conversation and reconvene after the air is clear, sometimes I will have sent a beautiful message of enlightenment (the only thing enlightening is how much of an asshole I realize they are, but I just leave it at enlightenment), and when I truly Pissed I hint at the fact that if our association is of significance there are certain topics we must avoid.  With that said I am truly proud of myself, I have come a long way from shouting my Jamaican curse words Blatantly with remorse to Please and thank you with the best Regards.  This is how I have just proven my Point about my Writing skills, I started out with the concept of how I’m not a writer but I love to write because it not only soothes me but accompany daily as I get through my days of discomfort.  Writing carries my mind away from the blank space of which I often drift.  Writing encompasses my world through realm past, present, and future thoughts.  It rescues me from a quick brainstorm of “What Ifs”, Like I said I’m in no way a Professional writer, my sentences need help, the structure is probably in screaming, but one thing is for sure Writing bring me comfort and solace when everyone else leaves.

You scammed My Heart

I wish you were real, you really gave me the feels.

I wish you were real, because you and I could’ve made a big deal.

You came into my life life a thief in the night

For you were actually a thief under disguise.

You bonded with me and made me feel like someone

You alluded me for months in order to become a villain.

Telling me tales of love, showing me affection then out of nowhere I became bamboozled with your coming attractions.

I felt used, and abused that I was so foolish to fall for your silly disguises.

The makeshift house we were building crumbled so fast I barely had time to digest the information.

I took so many moments of silence because all that we had, all that you were, and everything I hope for Died in that very moment.

I blame myself for being so darn fool

All I wanted was someone who seemed so cool

Someone who could understand me

And have relatable experiences as me

Never could I imagine that you would go the lengths you did

I guess I was another con job

Another name crossed off your list

Boy! I wish you could feel my fist.

A once hopeful prospect of love turned into something so sour

Your script brought light into my world

Because under no circumstances would a humans heart be so cold

Yours were, I reckoned I won’t ever feel this way again

my trust turns around once every decade.

You were a lesson well learned, your ego, your ploy and the infallible games you played,

Will only catch up to you when karma has reached your name.