This week I was confronted by the pain of so many people I know and so many people I will never meet. Pain was the theme of the week. A sermon about the brokenness of the world. An atmosphere of anger and fear after the election. A class about the way language can be used as a weapon. A presentation about war. A paper about human rights abuses.
And I kept hearing stories of things that are wrong in the world and all I could think was, "I want to do something!"
I think about my goals for the future and my passions. I think about the words that I write and the stories that I tell. Why do I write? How will my writing make the world a better place?
Words are important. The words we hear can shape our reality, can shape our identity. Words give voice to the very depths of our beings. Words give hope in hopeless moments. Words preserve and expand and connect.
I write to keep from disappearing. I write to keep from being alone.
I can hear echos
of a past I never owned.
The stories you tell
latch onto my arteries,
become mine.
I am desperate to tell,
for you,
for me.
Words have the power
to change
when change
itself has become
impossible.
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