Words don't flow off my tongue. What comes out is what burst through my straw dam.
And what gets caught on sharp ridges — saved from empty ears — is what gets thrown on paper. Hate and resentment of the mundane. Words do not fly from my fingertips they swirl in a typhoon before crashing into my eyelids, forcing them open and fingers to drag across a keyboard that deserves more. The maleficent words that could have been, wondrous, condemned to oblivion, subject to endless purgatory due to a singles ignorance of the way of words. A lack of reading books maybe? Lack of vocabulary. Simply the lack of? But there will always be a lack.
Is it senseless of me to consider intelligence the ability to recognize that you lack? Lack of understanding, knowledge, so be it, but to also have perseverance. Learn and preserver. You must preserver. To learn, grow, expand and live life to the fullest your heart can. Feel it swell as you dance alone in your room, swaying to music that brings warm tingles through your body. A comfort only you can feel and I can't seem to find the words for. Intelligence to understand one always has lacked and that lack can make you bloom.
YOU ARE READING
Fuck You, Nicely
شِعرOne finding themselves, ups and downs; streams of melancholy and yearning of the heart. Contains time stamps of a life that seem to fade too fast and rants through life lessons I often forget. There might be some triggers with eating and just mental...
