Penman's Soul Dreamed 4895 days ago | | 210 words

Writing is therapy. Whether it be lyrics for a song, a poem locked away in a notebook, scribblings on the side of a worksheet in school. I turned in my fair share of worksheets with edges torn off because I had written or drawn something cool. Writing is good for the soul.
I need to do more of it. I need to crack open a notebook with a pen again. I need to start letting my mind spill over onto the paper again. I need to feel the cramp in my hand when I’ve written all I can write and I’m still bursting with words. I need to scrawl my script all over pages and pages of emptiness, giving it meaning!
I was born to do something. Something great. Something artistic. I’ve not found my passion yet. No, I’ve not found my true passion yet!
Am I a singer? Am I a poet? Am I a designer? Am I some amalgamation between all three?
Maybe I’m not any of these at all. Maybe I’m a printer.
How will I ever figure out what I am? When will I find my way in the mists of my own thoughts? too many questions. Not enough answers.

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