Words. I am surrounded by them every second of every day of my life. I read them, I write them, I play games using them. I enjoy studying words, and practicing the best ways to use them. My in boxes are littered with Word of the Day emails and one of the highlights of any day is reading those emails. I like to think that, while no means a master of words, word play and word usage, I am well on my way to becoming a great crafter and weaver of the words we use. So I wonder, why are my words so often unheeded?
This question has been on my mind as of late. I don't have any answers yet. I don't have a clue why some people hear me and heed my words, though I believe they are too few, and others ignore my words, or simply scoff at me with disdain as if I have no idea what I'm saying. I know what I'm saying. I rarely if ever say anything without knowing what I am saying. A hard lesson I learned the hard way.
"Watch your words young man," I tell myself, "because they are like bullets, once they are gone, you cannot take them back. Words kill just as sure, just as true."
I said something once that I regret saying more than anything I've said before or since. I threw a curse. I threw it with such force and elegance that it's been ringing around in my head ever since, it rings there even now. I regretted it the moment I said it and I regret it now. I wanted to take it back that second, but I couldn't then and I can't now and I know that because I know what I'm saying when I speak because I know the words. I know them well
Futile, useless and empty words. They seem to work best when used to sting, confuse and manipulate. People understand the words we use to hate because they strike us not only in the flesh but in the heart and soul with immediacy like the strike of a samurai's sword. Words of love and caring take longer to penetrate our hardened lives. They caress us and make us feel vulnerable so we trust them less. I love you, we question. Fuck you, now that we understand.
Some will say that I use to many words. They will say that I am effusive for no reason than for the love of hearing the words, writing the words reading the words back to myself. I listen to and read the great words I've written over the years and, while I can see clearly now the technical mistakes, the words themselves, the sentences and the power of my thought on paper thrills me. I recite my poems, and songs, I read my work aloud and memorize passages, I craft dialogue in the shower and I write responses to stupidity that I never send. I revel in the private elegance of my own heightened sense of self. But I know what I'm saying and my words should be heeded more often than they are.
It's an option. I would choose it.
