hamburgers

i can't sleep when i know i should and this feeling is all too familiar lately. writing used to come so naturally to me, but now i can't tell you how many nights i've turned into mornings in the seclusion of my uninspiring dorm room. i'm constantly  battling with myself just trying to find the right words but they never come out right anymore... and it leaves me with this restlessness and anxiety because i've lost the ability to express myself. hours spent in vain and all i have to show for it is an overused delete button and a bunch of ink wasted scribbling out sentences that didn't convey my thoughts. its enough to make me punch a wall or something, but i still have enough sense in me to know i'd most likely break my hand in the process. 

 i blame my honors english teacher in 11th grade for shoving hamburger-style essays down my throat. little did i know that i was practically selling my soul for structure and conformity. dramatic, i know, but there was no room in those hamburgers for discovering who i was and slowly my means of expression turned into a chore. save emotions for art class or music, they teach us (but try to take those away too). now i'm here trying to break down this divide that those damn hamburgers created between my heart and my head and just write again like i used to from that honest place inside of me uncorrupted by anyone else's expectations.