The World of Words

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I cannot make flowers grow
in the parts of myself 
I don't take enough care of
like my mind
and my heart.

I cannot repair 
those who are broken
and I cannot heal
those who hurt.

I cannot mix a concoction
of equal parts love and strength
with an extra dash of hope
to make life valuable again.

I cannot enter a room
and grant everlasting contentment
to its inhabitants.

I cannot make the pain go away
or ask it to at least go easier 
on its victims.

I cannot wake in the morning
unafraid
when what I fear most
is what grows inside of me
no matter the poison I swallow
to destroy it.

There is dignity in effort, though,
and worth in endeavor
because though words make up the world,
there are worlds in words

and they can grow flowers 
in the darkest parts of a person.

They can mend the damaged
and fix the blemished.

They can give value to life
until it becomes 25% love,
25% strength,
and 50% hope.

They can envelop any four walls
and replace exasperation
with ecstasy.

They can terminate pain
and give permanence to pleasure.

Words can diminish all fear
and give me a reason
to believe that I belong here
and it is not by a mere twist of fate
but by a tremendous leap of faith
that I am learning my purpose
instead of feeling like I'm not worth it.
I am made entirely up of words
and so I've got the whole world inside of me.

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Words can diminish all fear
and give me a reason
to believe that I belong here
and it is not by a mere twist of fate
but by a tremendous leap of faith
that I am learning my purpose
instead of feeling like I'm not worth it.
I am made entirely up of words
and so I've got the whole world inside of me.

 

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