I wanted to write words that perfectly fit together, like a puzzle. The kind of puzzle you would find in a pediatric waiting room; with ease and simplicity. Not like a Rubik’s cube that needs to be sifted and turned and put down to figure out on a later date. But I don’t know these words. Everything I ever wanted to express sits heavy on my stomach stretching out my intestines. Try, you have to try I’m told. That’s when the push and the strain begins to produce an inadequate shit. It’s never what I wanted. It never brings comfort. So the words sit. Decades of excommunicated thoughts get reabsorbed into my bloodstream – rotting in my belly. The all telling stench seeps from my pores.