i have a great affection for admitting the truth
and the truth is this:

i have a fondness
for words
but often find myself struggling
to string them together
in the right order.
on certain days, in any order.
i simply cannot sway them;
they do not operate as a medium
for what i am meaning to say.

the truth is this:
words do not obey me
as easily as they do you.
i can turn dying leaves into new grass
and ash into glitter
with careful effort and mild pride
but you create
galaxies out of nothingness
and just as easily erase
predetermined notions of my existence
by humble mistake.