I
Can’t
The fear of misspelling
The fear of putting my thoughts out there
Putting my fingers on a keyboard
Picking up a pencil
It’s all too much
What if it’s bad?
What if it changes the world?
How will I know unless I try?
But why try when most fail?
I don’t want people to read what I write
But the need to hear what I have to say
Or do they?
Can one mind write the words that change the souls of others?
The pressure.
That all writing should be great
Grammatically correct
And world changing
The fun is gone, replaced by fear
Of what I could create, on accident or purpose
Of what I could destroy
Of the possibility of enjoying what I write,
only to have it shredded by the sharks of reality.
I am at the mercy of their jaws
Why write when I can’t enjoy writing?
Why write when now I fear writing?
Why?
Why?
Why?
I just.
Can’t.
