Somedays I write and know just what I want to say; other days I want to write but have no idea what to say. There is an urge to remove from my head, from my chest, from me, to release words, even when I am not sure what those words are.
When I was little, I would feel this urge, and in my mind I would picture myself climbing atop a classroom desk and screaming. Just to release the tightness in my head, my chest, from me; even though there were no words.
I can numb the tightness with mindless activities, but it will come back and it will be worse. So I will try again, to release the tightness from my head, my chest, from me.
I don’t think I was wrong as a child to feel that I needed to scream. I didn’t scream but I really, really wanted to. Now I think it’s just words. So I write them, even when I don’t know what to write.
Just to release the tightness from my head, my chest, from me.
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