I’m Bad with Words


I’m bad with words

20 years,

3 languages,

And I still have yet to find,

A pen for my script,

To make it legible and crisp.


I’m bad with words,

I wish they were polished and ordered,

Like strung pearls,

Buffed and smoothed like sea glass.

I’ll try again,

But this horizon doesn’t know where to begin.


I’m bad with words,

My paper is as blank as the petals of jasmine.

Hoping the dyes of its neighbors will stain a few phrases,

The footprints of bees will assemble a sentence,

The swift fluttering of a hummingbird’s wing

Will dust the page of stammering.


I’m bad with words, yes.

They’re packaged in cardboard,

Wrapped in newspaper,

Roughly tongue-tied,

Tied in vine,

Tied in twine.


I’m bad with words,

So I lift my hands

Heavy from clutching my jagged thoughts,

Thoughts crackling like thunder,

Like the tide is approaching and retreating,

Erasing and revealing.


I’m bad with words,

But in the comfort of screaming silence,

I’ll sit holding on to them,

If life is counted in breaths, then this moment is gauged in sighs,

Unable to be tainted, twisted, it’s a sign,

Maybe it is best that my words stay mine.



I’m bad with words and hearts and I don’t cry,

But if you give me your words I will hold them with mine.

Store them in the pockets of my heart and the garage of my head.

Hold them with the sparks of my lingering thoughts.

I will hold your words, safe and sound.

I will hold your words, away from harm and above ground.


I’m bad with words

But these words are now ours.

I will lock them in my chest and chain them to my brain.

I will grasp them tight until they’re printed in time.

And I will lift your words up so maybe He’ll take mine,

I will lift them up to the One Whose words are divine.



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