I strive to stay relevant,
most especially my self.
Playing catch up is a constant,
because being left behind is a reminder I might not matter.

This brain is a gift,
this mind made of matter matters
and it means more if I mean to use it,
meaningless if I don’t.

The stories don’t merit much unless they’re told,
they would grow old and turn to dust,
words sifted out and repurposed,
resentful of the lack of application when they are fully aware
of the places they could have gone.

Words understand not just the meaning,
but the intention,
the nuance,
the passion possible
when one takes the time
to find just the right word,
to seek out the best rhyme,
to convey the most feeling
anything less is a crime.

Perish the thought I should deny them their day
I’ll speak in every single tongue I can muster,
Brush the dust off those terms archaic,
If only for lack of relevance.