I've found myself wanting for words

There will never be another February 1st of 2015 again, after today.  I shall have to make the best of it. 

Recently, I have had some doubts about writing, whether or not I should really try to write.  I mean, words are so limited and it's hard to tell a tale really well, or even figure out a story to tell.  I asked myself why I was writing and was considering giving it up, but no.  Storytelling is in my blood, though I don't know how it got there.  I do feel as though God made me this way for a reason, that I should write down this one story, all of it, even if it feels wrong right now.  And I wrote a poem too.

I need to tell a story

Even if it’s only one

I want to tell it better

Than any other tongue.

It’s aching to bleed

It wants to be told

I have to be bold

I have to tell a story.

I need to tell that story

But I just can’t see it.

I need to untangle these threads

And weave it, sew it.

I need to tell the story

But I don’t know who it’s for

Strange faces left and right

I hope it’s not a bore

I need to tell this story

Even if I don’t know how.

Just stumble then

Till you learn how to bow

Yes, I know I'm procrastinating on the story.  I've recently found myself wanting for words to tell it.  There are countless ways I could tell it, and I can only tell it one way at a time, and not a hundred ways, for then nothing would make sense with all the events mixed up.  But I'll go to it and work now.

In November I wrote quite a lot of unexpected poetry.  Every day I seem to get some sort of revelation, small or big.