I am a struggling writer, trying to explain the words that feed our souls

I wonder if the words on the page are magical, reaching towards the depth of their souls, trying for their inner being

I hear the pounding beats as my pencil drums impatiently on the desk, impatiently waiting, waiting for my mind to be set free from its makeshift barriers and elusive words.

I see what I want to write, trying to translate it on to paper

I want to write, write what I see and write what I hear

I am a struggling writer, trying to explain the words that fed our souls

I pretend I am who I am writing, or where I am writing, wondering if it is real

I feel the cool touch of the warm breeze from the sea, from which I draw the raw, beautiful emotion

I touch the parchment paper with a caressing feeling of love and hate, wanting the world to know, but not being able to say

I worry I won't find the right words in time, that I will be alone in my writers world forever

I cry when I am alone, when I have had enough of the real world and can't escape to my writers world, of which I am afraid but love none the less

I am a writer, wanting to break free from the struggle

I understand the world is made of two elements, the wild words that rule emotion and the wizards who brave the unknown to find the perfect combination of words and phrases to cast a spell on the people with their beauty

I say what I mean in my writing, things I cannot say aloud, face to face

I dream that someday I will be a successful writer, reaching towards the stars to pluck the words from the skies.

I try to imagine the world with out the magic of the wizards to cast beauty spells by manipulating the world with words

I hope the world will accept my literary art, trying to reach out and be a word wizard, conquering the wild world of words and phrases

I am a word wizard, breaking free from the struggle.