I would like to share this poem that I stumbled upon in the internet. It perfectly describes me for most of the time. Here it goes:

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When I feel cornered or confused, I pick up a pen and write. Words are my tools and my weapons. With them, I chase my dreams and chronicle my disappointments. The page is never judgmental. I am able to pour out my heart without fear of criticism or condemnation. There is catharsis to be found in expression. Relief is gained by ‘thinking’ in print. I don’t always find answers, but at least I can record my questions. Sometimes, they are answered in time and I am able to look back in the process from a new vantage point (somewhat looking down at the hazardous cliff from the peak). Writing doesn’t solve my problem but sometimes it is the means that provides the way, a well trod path to enlightenment. This is one path where I’ve picked up the dirt until dust clouds have blurred my vision. It always encourages me to remember that when the dust settles, the ground is fresh and ready to be patterned again.

 

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