Letters, words, syllables, sound.
Tiny fragments make the world go round.
But it's the words that aren't said that make this stop.
The fragile sense of self begins to pop.

Hide it all behind a smile, say that it's O.K.
Everyone is better off when it's this way.
**** pride, **** glory, **** self esteem.
Let everything you know come busting out the seam.

All of this, everything, is tied down to diction.
This has become a story that is greater than fiction.
But the world won't understand what I am saying.
As I don't even understand the options that I'm weighing.

Honestly, this writing is starting to grow old.
I can sense these feelings are numbing and cold.
So I'll finish this with a simple request.
Have fun, be happy, and I hope for the best