Who are you
If you can’t stitch sentences slowly
With real intention and wonder?
A world rife with the unfair and cruel
Become words on my page.
Awakened and raw
They hold everything
And nothing.
Maybe my wants are too cruel, too
Because how can I capture
A memory? A place? A person?
Isn’t it impossible,
No matter the wordsmith,
To create a whole world
With words alone?
Words are powerful. Nuanced.
But there’s not enough of them;
Not enough meaning in language
To ever be the writer
You think you want to be.
S. R. Crawford 