I have been thinking about this post for weeks – months, actually. Words twirl about in my head, one after another; mulling, and brewing, and boiling until my body becomes an animated version of itself and steam shoots from my ears. I hear a whistle as if my brain is a factory, closing for the day, and my body is dirty, tired and gritty from all the work it had to do to keep the factory open, working, resourceful.

And, the words – the hot, steamy, messy words – can’t be written down because they have become condensation on the walls. They slide and drip to the floor until they’re in a jumbled pile at my feet. I see them there, a mess of black letters spelling anger, sadness, fraud, sorrow, trust, love, faith, conviction. I move forward and they stick to my shoe.

I try to wash them away, but they won’t take leave. They are glued in this spot beneath me, always at my feet with every step I take. I need new shoes, I think.

The new shoes are shiny and clean; there’s no blackness on the soles. They give me blisters, but my toes will adapt. I wiggle them. I go for a run. I try lots of new things in my shoes and they become comfortable and I forget that I ever had anything but these which fit me so well.

Until one day when I’m standing at the stove and feel the words in my head again. Child, wrong, sad, hurt, boy, belief, family, ignorance, CHILD, CHILD, CHILD. It happens all over again and I think, I will never be able to write a post with all this muck.

So, I don’t.

I let the steam leave my head, wipe down the walls and buy new shoes, hoping that someday their comfort will be enough.

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