Words

Recently, in reaction to the election result in America
I wrote that words are my weapon. 
But they are more than just that. 


Words are my salvation.
Piecing them together is my liberation.
Composing sentences is my restoration. 

I too often find myself either despairing or romanticising aspects of my life far beyond necessity.

In those moments of viewing people or places with an all consuming rose tinted nostalgia - words can be my saviour. 

In those moments of viewing people or places with an all consuming dark helplessness - words can be my saviour. 

When I write, 
I can make that apology that is burning my conscience. 
I can confront that oppressor that is plaguing my confidence. 
I can explore the melancholy that is dampening my mood. 

The words often start as a jumbled mess in my brain that I cannot comprehend. 
I too often find myself drowning in the thoughts that wash around my head.
But when I write, the words find meaning.
The words I write are my truth. 


Writing is a relief for me.
It is a way to process both the chaos inside and the madness outside.
It allows me to recentre. 
It is a meditation for the impatient. 

It is a release that I need to survive.