“Still must the poet as of old,
In barren attic bleak and cold,
Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to
Such things as flowers and song and you;
Still as of old his being give
In Beauty’s name, while she may live,
Beauty that may not die as long
As there are flowers and you and song.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay,
It strikes me that writing does indeed give life to everything. Beauty, tragedy, love, pain, suffering, glory, happiness. As long as you own a song, sad or ecstatic, life-giving words dwell within you. I truly care not whether you know the queen’s English or possess the ability to wax poetic at any given moment. If you possess a song within your heart, write it.
There’s no need to fret over whether the song is sad or lonely or giddy or ugly. There should be only you and the song playing on the page. I’ll let you in on a little secret – EVERYONE has a song. EVERYONE wants to sing their song, but most choose not to. There is indeed bravery involved in the singing (writing), but unlike the music which may be heard, the writer enjoys the anonymity of themselves and the page.
Write your song. Write it from your heart and soul. Let loose of those things which bind you or free you. These are the readings people desire. Those who are bound either wish to not be alone or to be free. Those who are free wish to make sure they never be bound again or resonate with others who’ve been freed.
Sing on the page. Be the bard. See your life blossom or take root or soar. Sing with words on a page for yourself. Only you stop yourself. Go ahead. Sing.