So much to say…

There are so many things I want to say.

But can’t find the words.

That’s a lie.

I can find the words.

I just can’t say them.

Here.

Or anywhere.

They’re not nice words.

I have to keep them trapped in my cranium.

They are venomous.

I have to figure out a way to let them go.

But it’s hard.

There is so much unfinished.

So much more I needed to say.

But can’t.

But won’t.

But shouldn’t.

I own my thoughts.

But when they turn into words.

I also have to own those.

I may not be able to defend what I want to say.

I may not be able to be nice.

Play nice.

Politically correct.

I may try to destroy you with my words.

Because it’s what I want to do.

Eviscerate you with my words.

Talk down to you.

Belittle you.

I can’t spit actual fire.

I can’t hurt you with my fists.

I wouldn’t.

I would however.

Use my words as my weapon.

They’re the best ones I’ve got.

I still can’t.

Can’t let my thoughts.

Turn to words.

And be free.

They would tear open a hole.

A hole so wide.

We perhaps would fall.

Into it.

All of us.

So I will keep my thoughts.

In my head.

Where you are safe from them.

Not because I want you to be safe.

Because it is the next right thing.

I can do.

From the big book.

No, not that one.

A different big book.

MW

Being Connected

I was browsing Facebook today, trying to escape my current assignment for my Police Psychology class and see Nora Purmort’s book is available for pre-order. I couldn’t click fast enough.

Her husband died after an epic battle with cancer. Her writing speaks so deeply to me.

I guess we’re all connected. I heard Oprah Winfrey say once, “All pain is the same.” This was during the beginning of Winfrey’s “self-help” spiral and I wrote it off as voodoo.

The last couple of years the saying has been stuck in my head when I get extra introspective and introverted. When the passing thought is, no one in the world understands my pain. Which is true to some extent. This shell of a body is my own. However, my pain is not my own. It’s a shared experience. It’s flows outside of this shell and touches every one in my life. Sometimes it’s just a trickle, sometimes it’s gushing.

I guess I like Nora so much because she writes from the heart. It’s super raw. It reminds me of how I write. How I over-share. How I trust all of you so much and many of you are faceless, sometimes nameless blobs of organs, skin, and blood. We all connect. Through the pain. Sure, we can rejoice in each other’s joy too. But pain and fear make us innately human doesn’t it?

We are all just clawing to connect. To feel it. To experience those moments when everything seems perfectly fucked and perfectly perfect at the same moment. We are all walking contradictions. We all just want to connect. I just want to connect in the realest way I know how.

MW