I left my words at the park
Hanging from tall trees
Till they disappeared
Into the trunks
Or fell to Earth with the leaves
I walked away lighter
On the ground steady beneath
— — -
On days when I struggle to give words to what I am thinking or how I am feeling about something, I turn to my journal. I go back to older entries, in search of familiarity and understanding. I turn the pages carefully, making sure to avoid the ones I know I don’t have the courage to go back to, on that day.
On such days, what I feel seems too chaotic to be packed into neat words and sentences of the English language. Or as though the words I need simply do not exist/ have not been invented yet.
But these are also days when I need words the most.
And when the words finally do come, I don’t have the strength to bear them. I need them — I am desperate for them — but they terrify me. My journal cannot hold them.
These are words I take to the trees. I give my words to them and leave behind the noise, till I am back again with more, more parts of my self, that I don’t have the courage to carry yet.
