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The Blank Page
There is nothing like staring at a blank page and knowing that you could fill it with whatever you would like.
You could tear hearts apart with words, or you could show your heart. You could fly, or you could fall if you wanted. Whatever you wish really. You could make someone cry, or make them laugh. Make someone remember, or maybe help them to forget.
You find yourself writing in time to the beat of the song in your soul, the cry of your heart becomes apparent with just a few little letters on paper.
And as you look on those letters, all neatly arranged to say whatever it is you'd like to say, you realize that you just wrote down piece of your soul. It's scary really, knowing that you could just hand your heart over to a stranger to examine, to judge. Or maybe they would see a mirror image of the beat of their heart.
The only difference being that you acknowledged that inaudible cry and gave it a voice.
Because, I think that everyone is a poet. I believe that everyone's heart sighs a few lines of raw beauty every now and again. And deep down, I think everyone already knows. I'd like to think everyone has let their heart spill out on paper at one point. And it's all beautiful. Every last word of it. There is no such thing as a bad writer, just bad readers. Because if you look close enough, if you really look, I guarantee you'll see the writers heart, there on the pages. I believe in letting your thoughts dance on paper.
And what a extraordinary dance it is.
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