There are words inside of me.

There are words inside of me that I cannot always put my finger on.

They lay in wait, sometimes even when I need them.

My tongue stumbles

        I grasp at empty darkness

                I find nothing

Yet there are words inside of me.

 

There are words inside of me.

There are words inside of me that tumble out jagged, chaotic, and ugly.

They are overcomplicated; they are disorderly.

My speech is rough

        The meaning flat

                It is forgotten

But there are words inside of me.

 

There are words inside of me.

There are words inside of me that flow free and beautiful from my soul.

They stream down the page.

My pencil breathes emotion.

I am on paper.

Because there are words inside of me.

 

There are smooth

                choppy

                hopeful
                cynical

                nervous 

                excited

                structured

                jumbled

                angry

                happy

                wistful

                practical

                bleak

                harsh

                calm

                colorful words inside of me.