Hear Me Out, For Things Unsaid Too
That words have been juiced out of their lives is well-documented. So, I shun verbosity — empty words tire me.
Yet, these expressions need words. Ones that may have some life…I manage to scavenge a few precious ones and struggle to string them together.
What might appear as flaws in the manner of my speaking are devices that I mindfully employ to perfect my expression. My stammering is the vocalization of a stuttering heart, my pauses judicious and deliberate — waiting for completion of the ring or echo of my utterance. Even the variations in my breathing are expressive of my navigating the narrative, through the uneven contours of a valley of word-peaks and pause-troughs.
I am at my eloquent best, overpowered by emotions. I have set out to convey something unique, and I want you to understand all that I have to say — All my toiling is to that effect.
You ask me to be direct and accuse me of meandering and being vague.
This insults my intelligence. I am bewildered — like a talented wordsmith having employed their best literary devices to create a magnum opus, being asked to write an abridgment.
If each of us had nothing unique to say, if all our complex feelings can be boxed into a blunt, pedestrian expression, we might as well stop writing and burn the books.