The Words Churn
Words don’t line up.
They twist and blur.
They fight me hard.
I keep tools close.
Dictionaries steady me.
Spell and Grammar Apps—
back me up.
I drag sense out.
I force words through.
I build poems tough.
Knuckles down daily.
Tools help steady.
The grind is mine.
The road shifts constantly.
I walk it anyway.
Dyslexia hits hard.
I claim lines regardless.
I break old styles.
I forge new ones.
My voice decides form.
I write on, unshaken.
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 6:20 AM UTC
The Words Churn
Words don’t line up.
They twist and blur.
They fight me hard.
I keep tools close.
Dictionaries steady me.
Spell and Grammar Apps—
back me up.
I drag sense out.
I force words through.
I build poems tough.
Knuckles down daily.
Tools help steady.
The grind is mine.
The road shifts constantly.
I walk it anyway.
Dyslexia hits hard.
I claim lines regardless.
I break old styles.
I forge new ones.
My voice decides form.
I write on, unshaken.
A raw walk down a shifting creative roadwhere dyslexia pushes back, tools steady the hand, and a stubborn poet muscles meaning into place, forging voice through sheer will.
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