I’m writng this on an 80 degree day with a UV of 4, and im inside… its not cool

I have nothing profound to say. I can think of topics, a string of buzzwords that elicit an emotional response, but nothing I can verbalize or write about. I know nothing of substance, I know facts that don't amount to any greater bundle of knowledge. I feel my vocabulary could be bigger, I’m bad at punctuation, I can barely spell, I forget to capitalize often, and I make long run-on sentences that I separate with commas. I couldnt tell you what a comma plice is or any other random word that you want me to define. I cant define: when asked for a definition of a word I know how to use, I freeze in searhc for the words to contextualize the image of the word in my head. But despite all this, I write all this, because I might, I guess, gather the words for what I’m feeling, or to communicate my opinions and thoughts.

I’ve tried poetry, to show-eth thee the meaning to the truths that they can’t see. And believably, the words? they rhyme. The verbs? They conceptualize the idealized visions I have in my mind’s eye.

So tell me why I—as hard as I try to be formal—the words, they come out abnormal. They‘ve [the words] clumsily tripped, falled, stumbled; leaving me humbled: A tiny man with a twisted tounge trying to talk, forever young in his vocabulary.

I took this while hanging out with my friends. I think its funny how my feet are in the picture.

The truth is: I can write, I’m doing it right now.