I don’t write poetry.

Really. I’ve tried, for seven years actually, to write some kind of poetry, and nothing. But that’s not important right now.

Every English major worth their salt has a blog. I don’t know about salt, but I know about WordPress, so I picked a snappy little domain name and blog title and then left the site empty. For over a week it stayed that way. I didn’t know what to write. I could write about college and my search for a job, just like everyone else. I could write about my struggles with weight and self-image, just like everyone else. I could write about my relationship with Christ and spiritual developments. Just. Like. Everyone. Else. Writing is all about developing the voice and telling the story – and there I was, full of voice and without a story.

But now it is today, too late at night to get any homework done, too early to give up and go to bed, and my mind is spinning and for the first time I feel like I know why I’m writing.

The what is still a little hazy, but I can guarantee it isn’t poetry.