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
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.