To those imprisoned by the words of others:

To those imprisoned by the words of others:

If this is being read out loud, I wish to remain anonymous. If not, then this is a good place to begin.

Words have no matter. They have no substance and yet they exist. They exist to destroy and to hurt and to wound and to inform. To heal, to love, to make whole again. For me, my words are my prison. I cannot speak them fast enough, because they fall out of my mouth before I can make them be what I need to convey.

My words bounce around my head. They make no noise and they come and go as they please. I hear each thought in my voice and how I speak it, but when I reach out for one they vanish, like ghosts in mist. My words are empty and hollow, but when I speak them, they gather meaning and tone and they fall as if I knew what I was doing.

The words all around me in the air are strange and dissonant. They are still beautiful and I find comfort in knowing that others share my prison, trapped by the words they need to survive. I thrive on the idea that others can see me for who I am when I say a word. And yet they all shy away from me because I can do the same for them. I can see the prison I have built around myself and others carry their box with them because they do not see it or do not care.

Words are used to hurt. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” How incorrect and foolish. Words are the strongest weapon many of us possess. Having words means that we are all armed and can attack at any point in time. It happens more often than you realize, that you are maiming someone with your weapon.

So many people struggle with communication. My struggle is not that I cannot communicate, it is that I am able to and yet they get lost. From my brain to my mouth and throat, I lose my words and they come out sounding wrong because I have a roadblock placed in me. My roadblock exists to make sure that when I try to explain or work, it chokes me and holds me back. I cannot explain myself because my words dry up like the river in the desert.

Do not waste your words. They can save a life. If you think that saying something will make your prison tighter and closer and rougher, you are wrong. They will imprison those who cannot control their words and lash out at them. I am not afraid of death, but I am afraid of when they cut me open, they will see my words in an empty shell and they will see everything that I couldn’t say.

From one prison to yours,

Anonymous