Words, Words, Words

My Own Story

My Own Story

Why is it I can never find anything poetic to write about? No dazzling words that fit together so perfectly and portray what really makes sense?

I look up at the clouds, but all I can think about is how I hated learning about them during science class in grade 5.

I look out my window, but all my eyes come into contact with are the offset grooves of the cheap metal that makes up the flimsy tool shed in the backyard.

I would listen to some inspirational music, but for the halting fact of my dog Ace deciding to sneak into my bedroom and tear my last working pair of earphones into a pathetic pile of plastic coated wire and chewed buds.

So I find myself at a loss of words.

Real words.

Not the kind that matter, but the kind that make sense. Maybe not to the world outside of myself, but to me.

Because I've always been affected by words. They have the tendency to carry away all of my logic, all of my control, and leave behind a quivering mass of emotions, whether it be happiness or anger or sadness so strong that an exuberant amount of tears fall pathetically down my face.

Words transform me, but for some reason I can't reciprocate. I can't transform the words, can't turn them into the magic that sprouts tears of every flavour.

All I can do is gaze at my reflection in a window darkened by a shed full of tools that are of no use to me, and wonder what makes it so hard for me.

How will I ever succeed if I can't put my heart into words?

_____________________

Check out John Mayer's cover of 'Free Fallin'' --->

I wrote this poem to that song;

it's so... chill.

very john-mayer-ish.

chill.