Simply Imperfect.. an English essay

It’s always a pleasure of mine to create something. It’s even more of a pleasure when it comes out the way I had first seen it, as a whispery-silver apparition of an idea. It is from that ghostly image that I morph it from absolutely nothing to a descriptive paragraph that causes the reader to picture every sentence as a movie frame, playing before their eyes; an abstract drawing that instills beauty, terror, and thought; a poem, so flowing, it oozes out the mouth and rubs against the eardrums; a piece of music that twists emotions from happiness of sweeping overtures, to the strength of crescendos, to the somber, bittersweet ballad. These forms of self expression – writing, drawing, and music – are conduits, outlets for my deepest emotions and mounting stress. They provide me with something to concentrate and put focus on, freeing me from the plague of loneliness, boredom and depression. The ability to freely express myself provides a balance against my inner turmoil and it’s what I rely on to keep me sane. Oh, and I find it absolutely fun.