House of Words

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All my life, there's been too many words inside my head. These words ricochet inside my brain like pebbles. Hitting one wall and then another, pin-balling their way down into my throat. And then they lodge themselves there. Until I choke on them.

This process usually results in word vomit - a mess of words that I choke up, and look at later, but I'm too tired to clean up. So I brush them under the rug. Leave them. Hide them. Forget them.

But this has all changed recently. These pebbles have become bricks - I can't ignore the noise. These words have become heavier - they weigh on me, demand my attention. I can't just choke them up.

Instead, I have to chew them, digest them, swallow them down... even when they feel too hard to swallow. Now, I don't spew them out. I let them dwell - get to know them, explore them.

Coincidently, there's no mess to clean up now. They speak their peace and leave me at their own pace.

Exiting patiently, painlessly, pouring from my heart, instead of my head.

They even organize themselves in neat little rows. Building upon each other. Brick by brick. Line by line. Creating walls of words around me. It feels safe. Healthy. Natural. I come back to them now. Over and over and over again.

I've come to realize that these words never meant to choke me. They've only been trying to protect me. To build a house - brick by brick, wall by wall, word by word, page by page - around me. And to build me up with them. And they have. It feels sturdy now, and I want to invite everyone into this house we've created. Because these words aren't just messy piles of pebbles anymore.

These words have become a home. My home.

And what's a home without a family to share it with?