coffee reads

why i don’t want to write anymore

It’s been quite a few months since I stopped writing about something, like a subject, you might say, because a lot has happened. I can’t even write that “a lot” one by one now. Mainly, I was hesitant because I had heard that some people mistook my writings as something that was not good to hear. Or I also realized the writings here can be used against me under circumstances that might be favorable for others. I don’t know.

Maybe by the time I heard that others mistook my “expression of writing” as something exaggerated or a form of “worshipping, “a subject took its toll on me. Maybe I was shocked because nowhere on my mind had I ever thought about that. I honestly write on this blog because it is my expression journal and safe space. I don’t use it as something beyond that. I mean, my subjects here are almost concepts, ideas, rhetorical questions in the form of poetry, and open letters for anyone to read in pursuit of appreciating people for the kindness they’ve done.

I put some of the write-ups here in private because some misunderstood them clearly. And I cannot stomach the fact that I had to put it in private just because others “misunderstood” it. I was really disappointed. I have considered this little corner of the site as something I can share my sentiments and joys, but now I have my own share of boundaries with it, just because of others who might not be “like” the writings here.

So yes, I got an apparent writer’s block for that reason.

I realized that some writers, especially from the old ages, they use pseudonyms; they don’t expose their real names because others might misunderstand or miscomprehend, and it might be used against them— were, in fact, they just want to express some injustices, joys, achievements or like just sharing how wonderful it is to have seen a leaf falling from the tree.

I was lonely in thinking that this world can never be warm enough to understand you nor to ask you first before jumping into puddles of conclusions.

Maybe I should remain anonymous so that I can freely express what my mind wants to scribble because I do really want to share with people; I do not mean any harm or idolatry towards my subjects because, at the end of the day, they are all just concepts and words that I want to keep before I die.

I am hesitant to write, honestly. I wonder how writers from old age manage to remain in their class and finesse even though the world could not understand them and that they hide in the guise of other names.

I cannot find accurate words to describe my feelings towards it. I’m just blown with the flow of disappointments and sadness that I can never be that expressive enough anymore. I heard it said that we have the control from anyone who tries to make us inferior, but this time I am raising my white flag. I do feel inferior because others miscomprehending my articles. Maybe I don’t owe anyone an explanation towards a poetry, but it is sad because sometimes… they needed to really have the explanation if I want to clear myself.

…but it is okay, I have to shake this feelings off and write again, maybe next time.

until then, I will convince my mind to write again.


Kryzylle Nicole

hebrews 11:16

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