I Am My Words

I am my words.

Every strand of me is connected so tightly, wrapped and bound so closely. I am the very essence of my words. My words are me manifesting herself on a page. The real me. The true me. With each swift move of the pen, I’m slowly being put together on the page. Layer upon layer is added, block by block, word by word. Word by word I’m put together.

To say my words are not who I am is to deny my true self. I am my words. My words are me.

To separate these two is separating the heart from the soul.

Everything that I write is me. And I mean everything. You’re getting a picture of me and who I am with every word.

When someone decides a word isn’t worth it or that word needs to be modified or this word just doesn’t simply belong…what I hear is this:

“She's not worth it….she needs to be modified….she simply doesn’t belong."

I am deeply tied to my words. I cannot separate these two. So when you ask me to share my words…I’m sharing me. Myself. You get a glimpse into who I am. The more I write, the more I discover myself. The more you read, the more you’ll discover me.

I don’t want say how I feel. I don’t want to say what hurt today. I don’t want to admit that I am this messed-up soul that doesn’t know how to separate these two things.

Because I am. That’s me. It’s who I am. I am my words.

So if word by word I am put together, then word by word I am torn apart.

I wish I knew what made me tick. I wish I knew why I can’t separate these two things. I wish I didn’t feel things at the magnitude that I do. Why is this heart so sensitive? Why I can’t be harder? Why I can’t be tougher? Why I can’t allow something to bounce off of me? Why does each word said about my words have to be an arrow zooming in for a kill shot?

I am delicate. I am a flower that can’t handle the smallest breeze without losing some petals. Without losing some part of me that was discovered in my words.

You can go on to tell me that their words don’t define me, that my value is not in the words they say about me. I know these things. I say them to others often. I say them to myself often. But today I’m questioning. If I am my words, and my words are not good enough, am I not good enough?

Today hurt me. Today hurt my words. Today their words hurt my words. Today they hurt me.

Don’t you get it? Don’t you see? These very words. They are me.

#words #writing #vulnerability