Lately, my words have fallen between the cracks. They have gone ignored, glossed over, and twisted into shapes I do not recognize them in anymore.
These words are my intentions, my thoughts, my emotions; they are the pieces of me I speak to the world.
And I have been shattered, yet I pick the pieces of myself up to care. I have very little to cling onto in kind euphemisms and warm memories; and I think myself often unfit to function in the world.
And I’ve been told I cannot fit into the world, to operate opposite of the flow where everyone’s consciousness is aligned.
But I’m beginning to think that it’s not me that’s unfit, that my words mean something.
It’s everyone else comfortable cooperating in the same dysfunction to deafen their ears to strangeness.