The words won’t come to me.
They swirl in my head,
just out of reach.
I try to catch them
but they don’t want to be confined,
to be set in stone, unchangable.
They want to be boundless and blurry,
seen only through the eyes of possibility
where they are nothing more than what could be–
ideas not yet come to frution.
It’s so much easier to say it all in my head.
When I speak the words aloud
or try to write them down,
they tumble out all wrong,
exposed to a world that might not understand them.
It seems so easy when you think you know where you’re going,
but no one ever warned me how hard it is to get there.