February 05, 2021

When Words Don’t Do Their Job

When words don’t do their job
When they just don’t suffice,
you’re left with pen and blank paper
Or maybe a mnemonic device.

When words don’t do their job
to convey emotion or express thanks,
when words are just not enough
when you’re ready to fire, so you only shoot blanks.

When words don’t do their job
and their meaning is lost, not found,
what is left to make your point?
Maybe tears? Staring at the ground?

When words don’t do their job
and say what they need to say,
it’s hard to open up to finally talk
because words flail and slip away.

When words don’t do their job
and refuse to tell what is true, what is real, 
I’m at a loss how to relay what is fake…
or make you understand how I feel.

When words just don’t do their job
And their meaning doesn’t pack enough punch
How am I supposed to tell you “How I’m feeling?” “What it means?” 
Overwhelmed, I don’t have a hunch.

When words don’t do their job
it’s almost painful to speak.
It’s a paralyzing experience
to talk talk of joy, sorrow, and be weak.

When words don’t do their job
Some use tears, or laughter, or tone.
Some use anger, sadness, even humor, 
Some just hide away and moan.

Maybe I’m using the wrong words?
Maybe I can’t handle these proceedings?
Maybe I’m scared of really showing you
what I think, what I know, and my feelings. 

When words don’t do their job
here I am, anyway.
Stumbling over myself and my tears
to just get out what I am trying to say.

This might take time, so bear with me.
This might hurt a bit, but stay with me.
This may not come across right, but I have to say it.
These words might not say it all, but maybe, just a bit.

So I stumble and search—it hurts at times
But the need to communicate and vocalize 
overcome my desire to conceal and pretend
So words flood and rush out—I verbalize…

Here I am. Hear my voice. This is what I want to say.
I uncover. I unmask. I bare it for you to see.
The hidden pain. The dying light. The passion and the pain.
The truth. My heart. Take it or leave it, this is me. 

Because if I don’t use the words, if I don’t use the means
to share, and bare, and reveal what this means—
I will wither. I will shrink. My worth? Just jumbled
because I was never truly seen. 

if words become lyrics
if words become sonnets
if words become poems
if words become novels
if words become speeches
if words can change hearts
if words can start wars
if words can convert
if words can heal
if words can help me understand
if words are MEANT to do a certain job…
maybe these words are enough?

Maybe it is me, not wanting to say them.

If words become flesh, then here is my flesh in these words.

Hear me out and maybe these words will do their job.

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