The things I write

We use words each and every day and there is nothing but the words inside of us.

Some of us try to use words to paint a picture.

Some of us.

Not all of us.

I string words into sentences into worlds.

I have millions of them.

I keep them in my junk drawer,

with all of the thread

and spare buttons

and scraps of cloth

and pennies that rattle like raindrops

and a steel spring that I found carelessly thrown from someones loose pocket

and curled up between the cracks of the mossy bricks by the old auto-garage.

I have big blossoming words


and small swirling words



some are sticky and sound like you’re regurgitating a cupcake


some are made of iron and wood



that stack on top of each other

bricks and blocks and bricks and blocks and bricks and blocks.

So if you ask me

“What do you write?”

I will tell you that generally,

I write words.







One thought on “The things I write

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