wordswordswords

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The monster under my bed?
Words.
Formality, sentences with correct grammar and structure.
When they say, “Move it along, pick up the pace.”
It’s the procedural talk, “On this day of this month on this street, this person grabbed this and went here and that’s called a thingamajig that is the cause of this person’s death, blueblahblingdkaofjlafndsn”

Tongue gets tied.
Mind gets tired.
Ground falls beneath.

Wordswordswords.
Word. Swords. Words.
The sword slices through confidence causing a clarity-hemorrhage.
If I can do so many things competently, why not speak?
Speak the speech, I tell you!

Can’t blame Tongue.
Can’t put Mouth in the corner.
Can’t point the finger at Saliva or Face Muscles (Saliva’s accomplice).

Nope, this is inner work.
This is breath in, breath out.
This is acceptance of Self and this journey.
The ebbs and flows and ups and downs.
It’s the bigger Self saying to smaller self, “Hey, put the sword down, and have fun.”