Only the Only

I am words

composed of tangled sentences

heavy with meaning and intent.

Struggling to push forward

the ones that apply, I

stumble in the jumble

and articulate in a fog.

Dormant so long, I have yet

to conquer the structure,

the succinctness of a point.

If asked, I can answer.

Yet, I struggle to say what I

feel, what I mean.

I just vomit forth more and more

words.

Endless strings open to interpretation.

Spirals instead of horizontal.

This instead of that.

I try.

Each time.

I try.

A little more is revealed.

I hope.