they’re a funny little bunch of




and exhales.

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

they’ve multiplied.

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.



This poem is about: 
My community


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