When I Cannot Find The Words

I hate it
When I cannot find
The words I want to find.
When I cannot find the way
To say the thing
I want to say.

But that drives me nuts.

I spend years
Tracking down those words.
Fighting with myself.
And with the insane world
That we live in.

Writing down millions of words
And throwing them away.
Until I find the words
That I want to say.

And even then,
The words never come.
And all that I can really do
Is mumble.
And hint.
And try my best.

To paint a picture
In shades of grey,
Of a tie-died t-shirt
That’s fluorescent red,
Yellow and green.

And the grey
Just doesn’t say
What I wish it did.
So no one can see
The colors that I see
When I wish so desperately
That I could find the words
That my heart and soul
Want so very much
To say.

I think,
There are no words at all.
In any language
Ever known.
That can say the things
I want to say.

That the words
Do not exist.
So they can’t be found.

Isn’t that why writers write?
Because they just can’t find the words
To say what they want to say.
So they have to tell one hundred stories,
Or maybe many more.
As a means of sharing that one thing
That they want to say
With the world they live in.

Isn’t that why poets
Write the things they write?
Because on the printed page
They can control
The spacing.
And the layout.
And the rhythm
Of the sounds.
Which helps them
Just that little bit
To get their idea out.

I hate it
When I just can’t find
The words I want to say.
Like today.

When I wish that I could find a way
To write the words that would tell you
Of the thoughts
Trapped in my head.

So that you could see the fear,
And pain,
In almost all the people
Around you.
Every single day.

So that you could see
How wounded they all are.
Most of them curled up
In little balls.
Hiding under blankets
Every day.

Trying to stay safe.
And to avoid the pain
Of being hurt
In life

I wish I could find the words
To let them know
That the hurt’s not so bad.
And it won’t kill them.

So that they could see
For themselves
How the fears they have
Cause them to live
Less and less
Of the live
They’ve been blessed with.

So that they don’t have to hurt
Ever again.

Rain falls on everyone.
Remember that.
Sometimes it even falls
In the driest desert
On the Earth.

But the desert
Doesn’t run from it.
The desert grows.

And becomes more complete.
More than it could ever be
If it never rained.

I wish that I could find the words.
And that I can’t
Frustrates me

And makes me want to stand outside
And scream at everyone.

“What are you afraid of?
Why is it that you run?”

It frustrates me no end
When I just can’t find the words
I need
To say what I wish
To say.


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