The connection from mind to lips falters

With every word, sentence, conversation.

What I feel and what I say do not agree

I Struggle. Stumble. Stutter.

 

My tongue trips on teetering thoughts.

Fog rolls in and takes away the words.

There and then gone

 “D D D D’you know what I mean?” They don’t

 

The frustration grinds metal in my head

Friction combusts in my temples

The hot consumes my brain; it burns across my forehead

It spills out and rolls down clammy cheeks

 

The connection from mind to fingertips is different, though

The words flow.

They allow me to feel, to organize, to understand

To communicate

 

The power of pen and paper frees me

It allows me to say what I otherwise cant.

The trapped feeling dissolves

I can pick through my brain and analyze events and sort out emotions.

 

Communication is a skill taken for granted

It is difficult, but important

I wish to wrap myself around the ears of those willing to listen

But when I struggle to do so; instead, the eyes and minds of those willing to read

 

I write for others

To share my feelings and thoughts

There is great beauty in being able to connect with the world through words

Letters, stories, journals, poems

 

I write for me

To express the words dammed in my mouth

By letting them flow free from my fingers

It is empowering

 

To write is to be free

To imagine, to create, to remember, to re-experience, to share, to connect

For me, it is a necessity.

Writing is my first love.

 

The words keep me awake,

They chatter in my ear.

Clacking against the inside of my skull

Demanding to be written.

 

And it is a beautiful thing.