Ink Blots

Alyssa - Katy, Texas
Entered on December 8, 2008
Age Group: 18 - 30
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I believe in the power of words, the connection that flows from pen to paper. Marks made on a blank canvas transforming into hopes, dreams, thoughts, actions. That it is our God given right to be able to express ourselves onto a blank manuscript. Everything began with a pen and paper, the foundation of our nation in which our forefathers wrote the Declaration of Independence, our birth certificates stating our existence on this earth written in silky black ink, everything. Writing allows us to be free, to be released from the socially acceptable cage we are locked into daily, the paper before me does not think that I’m not pretty enough, smart enough, talented enough, it does not judge me. The pen allows my emotions and thoughts to flow without effort, the document soaking up like a sponge, sealing in permanent ink.

I remember sitting at my desk, chewed pen caps, crumpled pages and an old beat up notebook decorated the top. I was scribbling away furiously, everything else melted away; there was nothing but me, a pen and a paper. I was in love, the very sensations that takes you off your feet and knocks the wind out of you, in that good kind of way. My hand was holding the utensil doodling hearts subconsciously as the document screamed my emotions. My heart was doing flips flops every second and nothing could express myself more than the written words, words that I could never say. A few months went by and as most teenage relationships, it didn’t end well. Another day, scribbling insanely into an old worn out notebook. Tears, ink blots, cross outs, tears, all decorating that page. My heart was pouring out onto that lined paper, every broken piece, at least that’s what it felt like. I closed the battered journal that night and exhaled. Everything was written, I was not longer trapped in a whirlwind of feelings, they we’re out and I was free. An overwhelmingly sensation of relief washed over me as I crawled into bed that night, carefully placing my liberators into my nightstand, their contents kept secret from the world. Everything was going to be fine, the world would continue to spin, my heart would continue to beat, and I would find joy again in the morning, thanks to a pen and paper.

I believe in the power of words, the amazing healing that they provide. That was only one situation in which my journal has become my escape, a place of freedom from the outside. I believe in the power of words, that papers and pens can make a difference.