so often i spend my writing time editing, going back, re-reading, "perfecting", in an attempt to reach an end result that is not my real truth. instead of blurting out the words onto pages that form so fluidly in my mind, I go back, slash, cut, and paste, reading over and over and over, I try to rearrange these lines and shapes into forms that sound like poetry, whatever that means. but isn't the real truth in the way my fingers hit these keys the first time? there's so much potency in words, especially unedited. the raw thought, in its simplest form. what if I were to leave it as that, and just that, nothing else? before it would have felt that my world was sure to collapse, though now it leaves behind a sense of peace. an honesty I could never achieve before. so here it is, my words and thoughts as they came into my mind, sprawled onto this page.
it seems a large part of the reason I've committed, lacked consistency, and recommitted to this blog has to do with that obsessive need for perfection. at this point I'm ready to say screw it, and let the words fall as they're supposed to, not as I imagine or desire them to. things turn out much clearer and kinder when I'm not molding them to be an image that's fabricated.