Tales of A Libra

Truth of Being Basic: Two

"So you know... I started writing poems, and I am glad that some people like to read them which surprises me a lot. But I am worried that I might lose my readers soon." she started and her brows furrowed as she bit the insides of her cheeks.

Her friend shot her a confused look, "And why is that?" she straight away questioned.

"Because my poems are no longer alive." she merely answered and clicked her tongue, "My poems at first are pretty okay I guess but then lately I could not feel the same passion as before. The more I try to write with some good damn words and apply extra meaning in my poems I just feel stressed. I don't know why but it is like I suddenly feel stressed up and pressured whenever I write my poems. And that scares me because my only reason to live is to write and if I cannot write then I don't know what to do."

"But you do still keep writing." her friend stated and delivered a flashing supportive smile, "I read some of uour poems, they are good trust me."

"Sadly I am not convinced." she tiredly objected and tilted her head as if to gesture she had become sleepy, "I have heard those compliments before. And yes I am glad. But then, you know it just feels weird especially like when you know your poems are worse and not good enough and suddenly someone pops out and says your poems are good. You get what I mean? No, I am very grateful but it is just hard for me to be convinced again."

Her friend heaved a sigh and she wordlessly scooted closer to her side before hooking her arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, so she would be leaning on her with her head on the shoulder.

"What makes you think your poems are not good enough?" her friend asked. This is what she loves about her friend, because her friends always asks questions that will certainly bring out the further reasons beneath everything.

She closed her eyes as she tried to breathe calmly, "It's easy. The words I used in my poems are basic obviously. They are flat and empty. And of course I tried to improve my choice of words by reading others' poems. And my god shame on me their poems are so much better than mine always. They use amazing words, and seriously amazing. So amazing that I start to become angry at my damn self knowing that I cannot be as a great poet as them. You know it is just like I feel incomplete and will always be like that. I feel like I don't have that kind of creativity and originality so I will just get stuck here and be fucking me. I hate to be so basic but that is me." she felt like she wanted to scream her rage out but she was not entirely sure whether she was angry at those great writers or just mad at herself for being so weak and basic.

If her friend could see red flames sprouting out of her already she would. Yet despite how dangerous that was, and despite how her friend knew she was literally boiling and churning inside, her friend began patting her back to reassure here. Then here friend pointed out the most important question ever.

"But what's so wrong in being basic?" her friend casually asked.

She deliberately sighed out loud and shook her head, "A lot. But you won't get it. A lot, so much. I want to write poems that are amazing too just like others. I want to shine through my poems. I want the words that I use in my poems are perfect, they will be able to trap my readers in the world of my own kind of poetry. I need to prove to everything that despite how I have nothing at all at least I can stand out like others through a set of poems. But then I can't. My words are common and useless that perhaps when someone reads my poems they will be either scrolling or flipping through the pages because my words are either too long or just too mainstream. I hate that. I know I am weak and not talented but I cannot improve myself. These are not negative thoughts, these are damn facts." she pressed harder on the word facts.

"So are you saying that your main problem when it comes to writing is that the words you used are boring?" her friend quietly asked.

She nodded, "Yes. And because of that I cannot deliver heart-warming messages and stuff like that. My words are so colourless and plain just like the shirt I am wearing now, not appealing at all. And one thing I did notice is that most of the poems I had read are mainly about love and heartbreaks and people love those poems. But, I cannot write such poems at all because I cannot relate myself to love itself. How am I supposed to attract people when I cannot even write such a favoured topic? This is why I lost in competitions. You get it? I used to believe that I could write, but I actually cannot. I want to improve my writing style so bad, my creativity and also I need to use better and big mature words because it is never a poem with plain words it will just be a mere scribbling as if I am writing diaries instead. I want to be so real and serious when it comes to writing but I just kid myself up instead." and when she did finally stop complaining she swore she was taken off guard when her tears suddenly rolled out.

Her friend glanced at her, noticing the tears. She was quiet for a little while. She was thinking how to save her friend here from the evil obsession of a perfect writing. She always knew that her friend here was secretly a perfectionist, although without being told it was obvious and that was surely dangerous.

"You know, I don't think you can find yourself by using big mature words." her friend said and looked into her eyes with absolute concern, "Yes I know, almost every writer shares the same main top priority which is to use majestic words to capture the heart of the readers. But then, through all of those words, in the pursuit of those big words, it is just not the real you."

She frowned and her brows left a mark between her forehead as she pulled away slightly and stared at her friend, "What do you mean?" she questioned.

"You see, the more you force yourself to write such beautiful words, the more you will lose your real self. And I personally think this is why you are easily get angry and irritated over something, you easily explode and get mad because you are stressed inside and when someone or something triggers you, it is like flicking on your switch, and then that's it you explode. But the all the energy of this explosion comes from your pressure deep inside. Do you realise that the more you use big words the more you lose yourself and originality in poetry?" her friend smiled and questioned all of those softly and slowly so she could digest everything in.

"Maybe.." she was muted and speechless because despite how she initially wanted to resist, she noticed that at some point what her friend told her was true.

"The first reason as to why you write poems is because you enjoy it, and so that you can connect with the entire world yourself. That was what you told me before. You know, all I want for you is to enjoy writing like you always did." her friend muttered and caressed her back, "Trust me, it is all fine to be basic in your writing if that means to be yourself. I want you to be the real you when it comes to poetry. Forget all those big words, just be you."

"But... All those writers and poets are so much better than me and people like their stories and poems better because they used good words. And, it hurts me too." she weakly resisted.

"No, people like them not because of their big words. It is because those writers be the real version of themselves when they write stories. Since I am a reader myself, readers tend to connect with the character of the authors very well if the authors become their real self when they write. And for you I think just stop reading other poems and stories for the time being. Just focus on yourself first. Just be yourself even if it means being basic, and again just write. You don't need to win competitions and use big words. All you need to do is just to be yourself and write like you always do." her friend ended her saying very well.

She had her gaze randomly altered between the floor and the window. She honestly liked it when her friend spoke like that, her words were so remarkable.

"So does that mean I am basic..?" she asked slowly, and her head lowered.

But her friend laughed softly, "And again, what is so wrong in being basic?" she grinned.

"... I don't know." she at last surrendered and agreed.

"See? Told ya." her friend smiled and pulled her close so she could embrace her tightly, "Just be yourself whenever you write regardless of how small or big your words are."

She then closed her eyes as she rested her chin on her friend's clothed shoulder. And for the first time in her stressing weeks, she could finally for real smile. "Thank you, I will treasure you very well. Thank you again." and she felt at ease at the end.

-some dialogues of a friend who convinces her that being basic in everything is certainly beautiful when it comes to being one's real true self in writing-