A blacksmith is someone who takes a lump of metal
and turns it into something beautiful.
Like a sword to attack
or a shield to protect.
It is a craft that requires equal parts
strength and dexterity.
I possess both
but in very little quantities
when I was a kid I would take apart everything.
Toys turned into broken pieces in my thirst
for the knowledge they contained.
When I was seven,
my parents thought I would be an engineer,
but I am no fixer.
Only a breaker.
I am like King Midas
except everything I touch turns to dust.
When I turned 11,
I tried my hands at books.
And no matter how hard I tried,
their words never broke.
They held strong.
So I started to use them
to forge them into weapons to hurt others
and to protect them.
Head full of big words,
I was a walking dictionary,
I started to forge them,
to use them as weapons to hurt me
and to protect me.
Fast forward years later,
my hands still break stuff,
responsibilities and relationships crumble
like expensive toys when I touch them.
So I have gone back to my words,
because words don't break easy.
They bear the weight of the world on their backs
while protecting a broken heart.
They are so strong that two four letter words
make and break the world on a daily basis.
I hate that.
I love that.
Their strengths makes for excellent building materials,
one that I have used to construct a fence around my heart,
a fence I'm now finding it hard to tear it down.
But words aren't indestructible.
They aren't always there.
And lately, I've been finding myself out of them,
like me and my throat are playing a dangerous game
of hide and go seek with my words.
And I always end up losing.
On those days,
when my words hide
for fear of crumbling
under the weight of my problems.
I'll grab a pen and a notebook.
And like a stonemason.
I'll start to chisel new words.
Stronger words,
words that I can stand on.
Because I may not be a blacksmith,
but I am a wordsmith.
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