Beneath The Light of a Dying Star

How do people write to say things without saying them? How do they find words that are subtle to describe things? How do they remember the grass and the stars and the flowers and clouds when they're writing something meaningful? How do they find the words to describe something at all? How do people think and feel then proceed to write it all so vividly and what am I missing? Because I'm searching for words and consuming dictionaries and reading their works to discern their secrets and patterns but all I find is silence and chaos. My heart and mind are somehow a war zone so loud that they appear to have nothing to say. I cannot tell a shout from a whisper. Nor a spark from a blaze. And I could read thousands of stories, feel countless emotions and never still be able to translate a single one onto the page. And my page sits empty and I sit in silence and you wonder about it. Why I never speak. Why I never make a sound. Why I always look away. Why I always hide. My tongue moves in your foreign language and has forgotten its own so all my words jumble and slip as I try to translate my soul for your understanding. But it never comes out quite right and you stare with squinting judgemental eyes and knitted brows and mutter under your breath to another friend about how bloody weird I just am, loud enough for me to hear it and nobody else. Enough for me to know how you feel but never enough that someone else would ever believe me. Maybe I just know I won't be understood, maybe I know they wouldn't want to hear it. Maybe I'm tired of speaking when my words only fuel their intentional misunderstandings so they feel justified to hurt me. Maybe nothing good ever came from my words. Maybe you never wanted to hear my songs and so I forgot how to sing them. 

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