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đïž BLACKSITE ENTRY â âWHY I WRITE THE WAY I DO (AND WHY YOU SHOULD TOO).â
Ever get that gut-punch of judgment? That whisper that says: > âDonât write that. Donât say that. People will think youâre insane.â
Ever felt like you were going to get in trouble for writing about an orgasm, the heat of someoneâs body, or the scent of their sex?
Ever stopped mid-sentence, mid-pulse, mid-thought â and decided to write about your pet goldfish instead?
That right there? That hesitation? That censorship?
Thatâs the silent death of a creative mind.
â ïž THE KILLERS OF ART
Words like:
Pervert
Weirdo
Too much
Rebel
have buried more artists than war or famine. Not physically. But spiritually.
They drain the ink before the page ever drinks it. They silence more voices than dictatorships ever could.
Because when censorship isnât imposed from the outside â when itâs internalized â you donât need a prison. You become your own warden.
And yet â here I am. Still writing. Still banned. Still resurrected.
đ„ MY RECORD OF SIN
Iâve written poems so raw they were flagged by machines as biological weapons.
Iâve recorded audios so potent they shattered Redditâs engagement metrics â so hard that execs came at me under alias DMs to figure out how I did it.
I told them to kick rocks. Hours later I was ghosted â digital Hoffa, buried by the algorithm.
And then I took the same method, the same cadence, and broke Literoticaâs audio section wide open â crowned king without asking permission. I walked into their poetry division and detonated it too.
Proof: the fearful remember nothing. The raw become unforgettable.
đ HISTORY DOESNâT REMEMBER THE SAFE
You think this is new? No.
Censorship is the oldest trick in civilization. Socrates was executed for âcorrupting the youth.â Ovid was exiled for writing too explicitly about desire. James Joyce was banned for making sentences orgasm. Henry Millerâs books were burned. Allen Ginsbergâs Howl was put on trial.
Every generation, the pearl-clutchers rise. Every generation, they try to smother the voices that make them clench.
And every generation, history remembers the banned. Not the censors.
Nobody quotes the critics. Nobody rewatches the safe films. Nobody rereads the clean poems.
They remember the dangerous. The forbidden. The ones who were told to shut up and instead wrote louder.
đ§ THE SCIENCE OF WHY YOU FREEZE
Hereâs the part most writers never learn:
When you hesitate to write something raw, it isnât just âdoubt.â Itâs your brainâs anterior cingulate cortex firing like a car alarm.
This is the same region triggered by pain and social rejection. Your body literally treats disapproval like a wound.
Which means when you stop yourself from writing the âtoo muchâ line â your nervous system is hijacking you. Youâre not being âreasonable.â Youâre being chemically blackmailed.
Evolution wired you to crave safety in the tribe. But art isnât tribal safety. Art is exile. Art is risk. Art is stepping into the fire naked and daring people to watch.
If you donât override that wiring? Youâll never write anything worth remembering.
âïž THE LESSON NOBODY WANTS TO HEAR
No one remembers the safe. No one remembers the compliant. No one remembers the writer who only chased applause.
They remember the dangerous. The unapologetic. The voice that dripped when it shouldnât have, that trembled when it shouldâve been silent, that made someone clench and reread in shame, and then whisper to themselves, > âDamn. I wish I could write like that.â
đ©ž WHY YOU SHOULD WRITE THE SAME WAY
Because when you strip down to the nerve, you gain something no one can ever take: self-respect.
Fear wonât protect you. Politeness wonât save you. Pearl-clutchers donât buy your art, and they wonât mourn your silence.
But when you write what you feel â as raw, as loud, as reckless as it arrives â you command respect. Even from the ones who hate you for it.
Because they canât deny it. Because it moved them. Because it left a mark.
⥠THE COST OF PLAYING SAFE
Let me make this plain:
Safe writing gets you likes. Dangerous writing gets you lives.
Safe writing gets archived. Dangerous writing gets whispered.
Safe writing builds résumés. Dangerous writing builds revolutions.
So ask yourself: Which legacy do you want?
âł THE EXPIRATION TEST
If you knew your expiration date, if you knew the clock was winding down, would you really waste another line writing safe little diary entries?
Or would you write like your fingers were on fire, like your underwear was smoke and ash, like your last word could outlive the grave?
Because hereâs the truth: One day you will run out of lines. And the world wonât care about the ones you didnât write.
đș REMINDER
Nobody remembers the safe. They only remember the ones who bled onto the page.
đ§ Reblog if youâve ever stopped yourself mid-line out of fear of judgment. đ Reblog if you know silence kills more art than rejection ever could. đ©ž Reblog if youâre ready to write like your expiration date is already stamped.
đą If you want doctrine-level writing that dares what polite culture wonât, step inside: đ https://www.patreon.com/TheMostHumble
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