I Want To Write A Message

 Picture by Caitlin Shearer (shot on 35 mm) from the visual diary 'Claire' for Caitlin She.

I want to write a message.
Something that matters.
Something that could change the world.
Your world.
(My world).

I want to say something.
Intelligent.
Everything has already been said.
But nothing is being done.
(She said).

I want to write.
I want to be.
I want to exist.
These words exist.
I want words.
I want to use words to say what I think.
What I feel.

I want to write a message.
A message to the world.
To you.
To me.
But what?

I want to say something that matters.
Something smart and caring.
Something with heart and brains.
But I don't want you to see the back of my tongue.
I want to keep 'me' to myself.
I want to write about myself.
(I always write about myself).
But it's not me that's written about.

Words don't define 'me'.
Yet I'm bound to words.
Words lack me.
Yet I use them at any given moment.
To express.
To tell you a story.
To write you a message.
To feel what I'm feeling.

Picture by me (shot on a Samsung-whatever mobile phone) from my 'Bullet journal' for... well... me, I guess...

A hand is around my throat.
Words are being pulled out of my belly.
It hurts.
What message do I want to write?
What am I trying to say?
What do I want to say?

Words are useless without meaning.
Without intent.
I mean every word I say.
Every word has value.
Every word carries a message.
A combined meaning.
But what does this mean?
What do I say?

A message from a bottle.
Is a message only a message when there's someone to pull the cork?
Is there a need for someone outside myself? 
Within myself?
Something matters when it goes beyond yourself?
Yet to care for the self is an important message to preach.
Not egocentric.
Yet ego driven.
Perhaps.
(Sometimes).

What is my story?
What is my message?

I want to write a message.
But I've got nothing to say.
Nothing to share.
I've got nothing.
(She said).

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