Words

 Words. I am the master of words.

Words were always my strong suit. I’d be able to talk myself into a rational state of mind. I’d also always be quite poetically blunt with those around me. I was a straight shooter and never was afraid to speak my mind.

                My words and thoughts eventually backfired. My confidence slowly was smothered by the rain of abandonment. I always was good with words and could articulate anything to anyone until I started to think too rationally. I always meandered through each avenue of possibility and this brought my words to a screeching halt. As someone who thrives off of his words, I became nothing when they became too difficult to speak or even think of. 

                However it was not just the loss of words that restrained me; it was the loss of meaning. I have lost words before, thus I scribble them on a paper. There existed no word that I did not know of, and no word intimidated me. This was up until I was introduced to a pair of words, a name, which then turned into three words, and four words, and so on, until I had lost all my words. And I hadn’t just lost my words, I lost all meaning.

                What is a mathematician without numbers; a doctor without science; a lawyer without law? How to uphold and continue these very arts without the art existing itself? Perhaps it is all a fabrication of the mind, but that disappeared once I closed my eyes, and built an entirely new entity; with my words. But these words only resonated the invalidity of themselves, their meaning, and of me. For a poet losing his words is only a writers block. A poet that has lost his meaning is a travesty.   

                The very idea of using my words to get out was abolished; they had no meaning. I did not want to be petty and the perfectionist in me did not want to deliver a less than perfect stanza. I stunted myself through my thoughts, which in turn destroyed my very art. And everyone else stunted me by maintaining the status quo. I was once a promising young man, but as I learned time and time again, most promises are too difficult to understand. 

                And after what felt like years, my words faded and turned into smiles; smiles of hesitance and smiles of second guessing and deliberateness. It became too hard to speak. My seemingly rosy world never was rosy; it only appeared so after I found my words, only to have them lost and taken away. As a person who thrives on speaking, I could not say one word. My words disappeared. My meaning disappeared. I disappeared.

                My own strength became my weakness. Much like the proverbial double-edged sword, my words betrayed me. Soon after I became familiar with that inspiring face, I only found, that I did not know, and it became seemingly impossible for me to find out. Words abandoned me. More importantly, those three words destroyed me.