Wordy Wordlessness

If I could spit my words onto a page, I’d have hope that my problems could dissipate. The rhymes I speak would send release. If only words came easily to this hardened, thoughtless, weary mind of mine. If only sweet waters were to cleanse me of pain as if this overwhelming fountain would release as the ink from my pen transfers to this empty page

This life is made of locks and bars and here I am, still locked within. My one simple release, my only escape is a small tinted window through which I can sing. Since when has my freedom been only these notes, printed on pages and hidden with coats of desperation and yearning?

I fear looking stupid. I fear being heard, though I need to be screaming, I don’t say a word. There’s so much within and I’m waiting to burst, if only I could smoothly do so on page. As clear as a cloudy day, each thought bombarded with the harshest extremes. Sweet relief, sweet relief where fore art thou my peace?! I’m reduced to these words, so cheesily stated and what is within has been no more extracted.

So many people surround me with skill, I’m stuck with my ranting and little control. There are those who inspire me with their painful tellings and eloquent words. When I read I am thrilled to the utmost capacity. I wish I could express things in such fantastic ways as my friends. If I could put words together in perfect meter I’d be ecstatic, but alas I am caught on this thicket of verbal inabilities. I cannot write, I cannot rhyme, all I need is to do is to give my jab and be done. All of this to say I'm stuck being wordy, with all this wordlessness.