At times, my thoughts beg to be freed of my head

A torture chamber of my own making

The endless circling down the drain

A rushing stream of consciousness, the inner monologue that drains my energy from every corner of my brain

Sometimes looking at what I feel on paper is the only way to make it work

The beginning of self expression

When the words fall onto the page and make sense of the mess going on in my head

It’s wonderful to think someone else has said that word too,

That "melancholy," or "furious," or "disgruntled" can be felt by anyone

Someone else felt that too, and they made a word that is now understood

I am not always understood,

But sometimes my words can be

I can explain

But other times words fail me

What do you do

When there are no words?

No magic adjective to describe what is going through your head?

No comfort or solace to be found in the innocent shapes of letters, little dashes that are understood and make sense to everyone

Maybe you can’t always understand everything

But, words can help sometimes

Sometimes the letters are the only things that stay the same when your world is thrown to chaos

The only thing that makes the thoughts

make sense.