language.

language is a butcher shop
words strung up by their big toes
skinned, tenderized, chopped.
the choice cut is glistening
creative, organized, well executed.
the typical variety festers
left over, gritty, cheap.

language is a clay
clay to shape and shift
clay to sculpt and impress upon.
looking glass into my soul,
see my faults and spasms,
you distrust it.

language is treasure
language is garbage.
we squander it,
we abuse it,
we misuse it,
we misunderstand
til it's banned.

no one is willing to admit their obvious stupidity.
their spastic nature, finger painting scars all over their personality.
not the lack of capitalization, as much as overuse of.
not the lack of punctuation, as much as the misuse of.

we pretend to pour our hearts, our souls into these letters,
these letters that make up words, that make up sentences,
that are supposed to make up thoughts but always come up.. incomplete.
you don't know what you want,
and don't get me wrong,
neither do I.

but to feign confidence through the abuse of words,
is it ignorant? is it because you want to appear less..
intelligent?

oxford says it's impossible to count how many words are in the english language,
if only because we don't know what constitutes something as a word;

"Is dog one word, or two (a noun meaning 'a kind of animal',
and a verb meaning 'to follow persistently')?"

skimming to the end, you find it to continue;

"If distinct senses were counted, the total would
probably approach three quarters of a million."

and even in a society built on one hundred words
we would find ways to trash them. maybe it'd be easier.
there is stupidity in the air.
false confidence, as we desperately attempt to hide,
as we desperately store away what makes us vulnerable,
human.
we say "get the fuck outta muh face, dis is my town ;)"
like anyone is actually listening.

though.. I listen. and all I hear is "help".
it's giving me a headache.
language.

language is a headache.
it's a crying baby in a restaurant.
an obnoxious audience member in a theater.
whether it's understanding or not,
we find it to be a headache,
a way to fuel our spite.

language is our curse,
and it separates us.

it separates us more than colour,
more than religion,
more than politics,
more than anything.
it's the silent killer.
language, that is.