All my life I've looked at words as though they were unattainable. Something that was not meant for me. The tools of the expressive. But AHAHAHAH! That’s all I can seem to muster a frustration unparalleled by any other unable to express myself in any way that would do it justice. so many feeling so many ideas locked away but no words to set them free even as I sit here and write this hopping that by some miracle of a god I don't believe in that something anything would find its way from mind to page so I could finally feel some sense of absolution, feel some connection to the world around me but no, my mind the jail the words its prisoners. A stoic persona cultivated by a misunderstood social expectation and harvested by a lost boy growing into a distorted man. A man unable to exact even the most basic form of expression lost in a world that demands the very thing that that lost boy spent so much time trying to suppress, thinking that by doing so he would not have an obligation to the world he lived in, thinking that he would never need to express himself in any meaningful way and finally realizing the horrendous blunder he had made. I the lost boy the distorted man lost in a sea of thought with no words to cling on to for safety or reassurance drowning in the unexpressed hoping for the words to come but knowing they never will.