So often I can’t find just the right words.
That or I can’t quite recall how to spell them.
At times they bleed together and create socially unacceptable non-words.
On occasion two different words that mean such different things will sound so alike to the point of utter confusion between them.
I wonder now and then if there is a string of words in existence that I could by chance piece together that have never been said together in that order before.
It used to bother me that there are probably more words I don’t know than ones I do.
To be honest it still does just a bit.
The power of words is the most profound power because words represent voices and voices are the seeds of all change.
I admire the apt use of vulgar words like prick, shit, and cunt.
Sometimes I think words are just about the only things in this world capable of expressing sincere emotion and holding authentic meaning anymore.
Other times I resent their very existence.
Most of the time a cloudy fog in between rolls in to numb the desperate hunger for perfection and delivers a mediocre version of what I know someone else can and probably has said in a far more eloquent manner.
Words have been the source of some of the greatest pain and pleasure I’ve experienced in my few years of life.
Living in such a rigidly alphabetical, acronym-oriented, hyperbolically poetic world can stifle the simplicity of all the humble little words constantly taken for granted.
Words are comfort food when the appetite and urge to eat real food are long gone.
There are words I’ve used once or twice and sworn to never use again for the sake of absolutely hating how they sound when spoken aloud.
In the end I never choose the words, they choose me.
Writing is one hell of a gig.