There are words inside of me.

Passionate, overflowing rivers of language that need an escape.

Allowing them to remain is crippling to my inner being.

These words do not belong to me.

I only give them a voice to be heard.

The voice given is usually only heard if it is read.

The word of God speaks, but not if it is not read.

The words are multi-purposed.
The expression quiets my mind. Perhaps it brings thought to yours.

These words that I write are my passion. They are the very thing that fuels my inner being.

I can change a word when I cant change a situation. There is control in writing that you cannot have in life. I hold the pen. I type the words. I give them breath. I can restart, re-do, erase, make new, re-create, revise, adjust, correct, transform, and modify these words.

Writing is renewable. Never ending. Circular. The beginning is where you started, but there were words before then. The ending is where you ended but the story will still continue.

Language is ever developing. It is how a creature of habit becomes accepting of change; the change that cannot be controlled.

Writing held my hand when my Nanny met Jesus.

It settles an anxious heart and mends the brokenness of a 28 year journey.

It paints over the things that I never want to remember and uncovers those memories that I want to last forever.

It’s the sunrise that I need on the dark days and that fresh glass of sweet tea in the middle of a Georgia summer.

It’s twenty six letters; arranged and rearranged to make sense of the world.

Never a fixed arrangement… always evolving into a deeper and more meaningful understanding than the one before.

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