I'm not a writer anymore

I havent written anything with any merit in sometime. i have barely written anything int hsi diary as of alte, and while some of this may be good writing. . . it isnt real, it is thoughts strung to gether on teh spur of the moment in an attempt to keep my mind active and me control voer words continual.

I havet written any poetry, itslike ic ant do it amymtote, i have so many thigns to write about but i cant

i have antoehr book idea, one that my arents woudlnt kill me over if they read it, but i cant bring myself to plan and put it together, i have five unfinished short stories that have been floating around my bedside waiting for me to take a pent ot hem, to regard them as crap, enarly throw them away and then return and lovelingly fix their faults, mend them and complete them

but i havent, i havent written anything in so long, nothing worth mention, nothing of mentionable worth

i am not a writer anymore, but i plan to be again. This myst be what it feels like to lose your first love, writing was an always will be my true love, my first love. I've lsot itsomewhere, and i msut take it apon myself to find it and save it from myself

like lancelot with gwenivere or robin hood with hsi marion.

My writing is the damsel, not i, never will i allow myself to be the damsel, always the knight, the valiant savior. Evenw hen i have no one to save, i will merely save myself and my concepts and ideas, i slay the dragon of my misgivings, because i msut be hreo not prey. i will not be the damsel. . . no one's damsel but my own