they’re a funny little bunch of
we’ve assigned meaning
to these haphazardly composed
groups of 26 letters.
they’re full of connotations,
and that something more
if you use them just right.
wordsmithing is a power;
an ability to share thoughts
and make others feel emotion.
this is a power I’ve never possessed.
my country gives me freedom of speech,
so I should take advantage of that right?
yet some part of me
has yet to get the memo.
when given the opportunity to explain something
I stumble over the significance of simple situations.
the amount of times I’ve stayed silent
due to my inability to articulate
and the accompanying laughter,
has grown embarrassingly large.
my words trapped
before the air even started to reverberate with them.
comments spinning and colliding
contained within my cranium
and caught in the chasm I’ve accidentally created.
my mouth stays closed,
never to become a cavern
cascading a cool creek of creativity
into the culture that I seem to be controlled by.
I thought of it almost as a rebellion,
to never contribute,
but it feels more restrictive
than breaking the rules ever should.
I’ve let my words escape
with bleeding ink across a page
and now sometimes
with shaky voice upon a stage.
I have far too many words stored up here
and, frankly, it’s little overwhelming,
so I thought maybe it was time to share.
they’ve started to make room for themselves
by pushing other things out.
things like patience, peace, and self-preservation.
ejecting these bulging bundles of letters
is a form of self-defense.
I’ve made the choice to break down my own walls
because I’ve realized
attacks from within do the most damage
and maybe raising my voice
will bring reinforcements.
my words have been stored up so long
I have plenty of them to use as a battle cry.
maybe by doing this,
I’m showing weakness,
but I’m just so damn tired
of being speechless.