Wut

Words are iffy, you'll never know if the sense-making will be wrought with conundrum or intelligible syntax. Often a sentence is written backward by the worried writer's hand until dumped and processed into a program where a squiggly green line announces the many failures of its construction - sometimes even with an ugly correcting suggestion that the lowly writer will in no way use - damn it all, even if it was an enviably good suggestion. The junky writer will convince themself that their words are poetic and serve a higher truth, grammatically or not. Shakespeare was often uncouth, the grasping writer says. Walt Whitman was wild with abandon, the helpless writer says. The nervous writer hasn't read Walt Whitman for he lives in a concrete jungle that doesn't let up, but damn it all they've read a review or two. The paragraph is already too long and has obvious points for break, but the overly caffeinated writer says that rules are for bullies to break and professionals to follow and the pretentious writer realizes that the sense-making has ceased incrementally with every word. Now, the over blown writer backs away from the phone, where all of this writing has flourished onto this Wordpress page instead of using longhand form to perfect the syllables and edibles of the exasperated writer's words, so the inelegant writer sighs. The inelequent writer wants to hide, but press Post - atop the right hand corner - does the brave writer and strangely, they are relieved. The piece has released a bit of stress, an immense amount of beastly anger, and even forces the stubborn writer down to sit, able to see that the world is more than they are and the world owes them no favors and that everything is okay. Everything is okay because the worrisome writer is loved and the world couldn't care if the paragraph is far too long or if it isn't long enough, at least it began, and, at some point, eventually, it ends.

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