my mind is a hurricane

awash with confusion.

For someone who puts such weight

on the words I utter;

I’m oft taken aback

at the chaos that dribbles

from the edge of my lips.

.

I rehearse again and again

my words before they’re released,

and still, I wish to take them back.

To try again.

To do better.

I wish to say what I meant;

or rather, how I felt.

.

The struggle lies

in the storm of my thoughts.

A single thread, once pulled,

unravels the many words I had.

yet the ones I need never remain.

And so I’ll begin again,

to connect my heart & my tongue

.

risking again

building the fragile storm

that is my mind.

---

–Joe

The trouble with words is that they’re a finicky, treacherous form of communication. We go to write them down or say them aloud and they vanish faster than a fair weather friend.

I once accurately described my thought process as lousy attempt at music. Sometimes it’s a cacophony of chaos with no discernible tempo and other times it’s an orchestrated thing of beauty. Usually though it’s somewhere in between as I capture a thought stuck in the middle.

Through the quagmire of words that is my mind one thing rings true: that I am afraid, in fact I’m terrified. Frozen in place, unable to act. Anxious for the words from my lips; their elegance inevitably lacking. You see, between my heart and my tongue somewhere there is a disconnect.

The real trouble though is when I believed I’ve formed a thought from the chaos and something comes along to shatter it. This used to be frustrating, it felt like a loss of control over my own mind. Yet nowadays I know the reason this happens and honestly it’s worth it. I’ll be ready to say something smart or funny and then I look up and suddenly the words themselves just crumble. In that moment it becomes okay to say nothing at all. To shut up and listen. Yes, to listen and to write.

Because I find that at the end of my pen I’m fine as it sweeps relentlessly across the page. My heart and mind never agree in the spoken word but if I write, the scratches on the page meld together logic and emotion alike. The words remain how they are intended. My fiat dripped onto paper, repeating again and again my hope of getting to know you.

Joe