Writers Block is a funny thing you know. For a person who has writing in their soul, writers block suffocates you. It is as a monster which rises up inside of you. It overcomes the creativeness which has been a permanent part of your soul. He growls at you that there are other things more important in life than your impotent creativity. At other times it puts on a mask of deceit. He tells you in a soft whisper that at one time he was your creativity, but people's opinions, people's words, and the worst your own self-consciousness killed it. That those three things teamed up and slowly wore away at all that he was. Ironically, creating irreparable damage. At times you don't want to believe that horrible little monster. The desire to write. to create. to pour your heart into the only thing of beauty that you know, almost overrides the words of that monster inside your soul. It's almost enough to break free of your personal Auschwitz. A strong metaphor, yes. But when you can't do the one thing that makes you who you are. When you reach your wits end, when you want to give up and just forget who you once were... but then a glimmer of hope brightens your soul for the smallest fraction of a moment. And then, as quickly as it came its gone and you are once again starving for something foreign, but remembered. The one thing that could sustain your soul. At that point you realize no matter what you once imagined... you really are imprisoned in the dankest part of Auschwitz. You may go weeks, months or even years in denial of all that you are eking out a living without. When you least expect it... in a quiet moment your hand will start to ache, your heart seems to burst with the unsaid words and your mind starts to wonder could this be it? Could this be V-Day? Could the monster finally be conquered? Is your soul truly free? And then.. slowly.. your pen reaches out, reaching as if to touch an untamed beast for the first time. And your pen touches the page. Your ears hear the quiet brush of your hand against the page. Many moments pass... silent but for the violent beating of your heart and the steady scratch of words upon parchment. Your hand begins to cramp from the strain of the unknown exertion. But its only vaguely noticed as your heart sings with the greatest release it has ever known. For this moment in time, the monster has been defeated. You will glory in the victory and quickly get back to your heart, written simply upon a page. As your pen starts to slow, doubt starts to send forth a small tentacle and you almost give in; wondering will all find it illiterate? Is it even worthy of the title "writing"? But no another seemingly brilliant metaphor bursts into your mind, and off you go, writing faster than before. Not able to control your pen anymore than you could control the passing of time. You may lose your train of thought, you may lose all feeling in your hand. But the joy of doing what you were created to do is a force you cannot ignore. And then.. suddenly... you are done, you slowly let your pen fall. You lean back breathless from the battle your heart just finished. And suddenly you know; maybe for the first time in your life, what you are truly capable of.