read between the lines

i don’t genuinely feel in these days that i deserve to write, for my words on paper are not good enough.

but good enough for what? is there a lack of expression and representation to the person that makes me who i am? (or the person i think i am? or the person i think i should be but am not?)

somewhere in between the layer of black ink and paper,

in between the space of each word and each letter,

in between the time of thought traveling through my mind turned into concepts no longer abstract once revealed and spelled out into W – O – R – D – S.

words.

in between is a marriage of truth and lie,

reality and illusion,

feeling and numbness.

the proximity of contradicting actions layered into what i think i feel and what i actually do.

“i don’t genuinely feel in these days that i deserve to write. for my words on paper are not good enough.”

—yet i write!?

because maybe in the mix, i’ll find solace in confusion.

maybe in between my insecurities is a deeper desire for confidence in myself that i want to convince myself of.

maybe within me is a narcissistic nature that thinks i am able.

or maybe, i just simply fool myself until i believe. believe in something in between.

i thought words conceptualized and created solidity to abstraction, but they don’t.

there is so much that lies in between—so much left for interpretation in between ambiguity and ambivalence.

even in words that are supposed to give structure, even in words that are supposed to give meaning and allow for explicit communication with others and the self, even in words that expand thought and emotion, even in words that give freedom and voice

is a barrier that no one speaks of, too free-flowing, is a barrier that entraps one within language, is a barrier that results in complexity more than simplicity though often believed to do the latter.

sentences formed like a math formula to convey explanation. except words are far from logic, enticed with a mirage of understanding and sense, filled with meaning, obscured with letters and letters and letters.

“read between the lines”—that’s what they say.

k.t.

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