Muted

[seoulsistah]

Writing hasn't been as fluid as it used to be for me. It used to pour from my fingertips so easily. My thoughts and emotions swelled inside of me and came crashing down on the page like a tide. And now it seems I am dehydrated. I picture my thirsty voice trudging through a burning desert, coming only across mirages of redemption. And because my creative prose has ebbed so drastically, my thoughts are trapped in my mind, boiling away into a vapor. I miss the internal movement and cleansing writing typically allows me. Now it seems each sentence I write I turn back to re-read, censoring and overanalyzing myself.

It doesn’t feel natural anymore, these arrangement of words. Everything feels so contrived.