I am not a good writer

I am not a great writer, yet I persist. I persist because writing is all I have—it’s the only way to spill out the knowledge and dreamlike spaces within me. The page is my canvas, filled with fragments of thought, swirling with nonsense that somehow makes perfect sense. Even in the most ridiculous ideas, even in the flood of emotions the human mind can conjure, there is meaning.

I write obsessively, not because I am good at it, but because I am not. Because each time I pour myself onto the page, I grow. Every word, every thought, every piece of me laid bare on this paper brings me closer—not to perfection, but to something real. And that is why I keep writing.