The World We Write

Have you ever been been short of words?

You have, whether you took the time

To consider the impossible eventuality

Carefully lain before you. 

Now think, in that moment, in that tiny forever 

That your mind makes longer than long,

Where you can't breath

Or think

Or get even the slightest linguistic representation of your

Overwhelming emotions.

The waves beat on the back of your eyelids,

The fires rage in your chest,

And you're helpless.

But not from the internal turmoil.

Not from the seas of tears

Or the inferno

Or the pain.

But because words have abandoned you

And you lose the ability to understand what is happening

Inside you.

Words make up the world,

From the ads in the windows,

To the writing on this screen.

Put them on a page and suddenly the 

Thin slip of beige is covered in black ink, 

Yes,

But inside and between the lines of

Monotony created by the endless stream of typography

Is new meaning, streaming from the author to you.

Every "I love you," each "Goodbye."

Write a small refrain and the words pour color into

A bleak and desolate head, awaiting connection.

Words you didn't invent, but that you made yours;

With every little pause and shutter and utterance, 

You create and at the same time are created,

Are liberated and emancipated.

With just a few syllables you connect and reject,

You process and emote

And grow to something you never thought you could,

Until someone said the words that spoke to you.