I sit and stare indecisively at this blank page. It’s not just an empty piece of paper but also my life. The others pages are in the past but still weigh heavy on my mind. This page is my future. What I decide tonight and tomorrow morning will soon be set in stone.
I find it strange that my fingers bear down on my pen with an alligator’s grip. Today has been long but not wearying enough to cause my pen to drop. Maybe I fear I will forget what to write and am trying to transfer my thoughts to the pen itself so it can write after I forget.
What do I want to do with my life? This plagues me. The nagging thoughts and fruitless struggles whisper, “What will they think? Don’t your parents want you to do something else? What will make your mom happy?” Why do I constantly seek approval? Can’t I live for myself? This life can only be lived by me. That’s why the title is My Life. Not your life, his life, her life, their life, but My Life.
I need to follow my heart and not be afraid of spreading my wings. I want to write for my living. I want to carve worlds people get lost in and never want to leave. I want my stories to change people for the better, to let everyone suffering in silence know that they are not alone. As much as it scares me, I want to share my poetry with the world. My poems are precious, like tiny pieces of my soul. Some poems I hesitate to share, others I may never share.
The blank page won’t always stay blank. Each choice we make puts more words on it. Our life is one big story, how will you write it? What will you write on the blank page?