Words.

A word is a curious thing It can inquire, find the answer that no one else thought of. Yet, it can still be the most open-ended thing to exist. They say that words cannot hurt me, but I beg to differ. It can be as sharp as a blade, and when it cuts it draws the blood from a soul instead of skin. And it can still be dull as the pillow I sleep on. A word has feelings and then does not at the very same second. It can describe things more morbid than murder, yet it can also show the beauty of life in nothing but a phrase. How is it that a simple word, a bunch of letters strung together almost forcefully, can be the cause of a wound deeper than the ocean? It is like a splinter in someone’s finger. So small, yet so pain inducing. You feel it constantly, and you can’t do anything with it still in your hand. So, you get it out in any way possible, by squeezing, pushing, prodding your skin until the vile little thing is out. You sometimes dig and claw at it in a futile attempt to get it out, and when you do the wound is greater than what it was before. But then, it starts to heal. Just like a splinter, words hurt. Words tug at your soul and you can’t help but do anything to get them out. You write, yo