Writing does not make my body numb and my mind black, the colors spilling on the paper. Beautifully constructed sentences gushing from my pencil. It’s more like fragments, ill fitting or misplaced words, along with unrelated ideas and topics.

My writing often makes no sense. I scribble and scribble until my mind has no more kinks or confusion and I lock the paper away, never read it, then usually shred it so no one else will be able to read it.

My writing is important to me in a different sense than the writing in a book. Although I envy authors or anyone who can write well, I write as more of a way to clear my mind.

Whenever I write for a grade I try my very best and turn on my A student thinking. I try so hard to have an eye-opening essay or paper, but it never works for me. My mind moves a million miles a minute. I can never take what’s in my brain and clearly translate what exactly I mean on paper.

When I was little I had so many ideas floating in my head, I must have written tons of short stories. I remember being inspired by a book where a girl had filled thirty full notebooks with journal entries. My “journals” were a quarter of the way filled with short stories. I remember going crazy on a story I had written. It must have gotten up to fifty pages, at least. I find random pages of it from time to time. I can barely read the handwriting because I was writing so fast, trying to keep up with my brain. The handwriting is almost illegible. As I got older, I felt I had little talent so I stopped writing. I’m frustrated my word combinations aren't good enough. My writing has decreased in importance to me, except for the gush days when I pour my thoughts onto the paper, never to be read.

Other people’s writing means a great deal to me. I love love love reading other peoples thoughts, even though I am so envious. It almost makes me melt how good others can be at portraying the topic and their opinions. It also amazes me that there are only twenty-six letters that can be combined into countless words that have countless meanings. If I really sit and think about it hard, it gives me chills. I love writing, I just don’t love to write.