Weighted Words

I wonder, sometimes, about what my life is supposed to be. I wonder about it a lot, actually. I sing all these songs, I write all these words. But most days they feel like a bunch of nothing. They hit brass heavens, fall to the ground. All my life, I have been speaking into a void. A nothing space, where no one hears, no one remembers. Dead words. Lifeless. Wasted, wasted, wasted. 

I had someone tell me recently, "You are a good writer. You need to go to school for it." But why? Why? If my writing is good, why go to school? To get a degree under these words? Are they not enough on their own? Do they need a piece of paper to buoy them up, to keep them afloat, to make people remember? Do they need that to keep them from disappearing into the void? 

The truth is, if no one has found me worthy yet, no one will. The truth is, if there is nothing to give my words weight by now, there never will be. The truth is, I have been trying to find value in this "gift" my whole life, and none is coming. My hands are filled with useless "gifts". I have been holding them out in an offering until my arms have trembled. I have felt my chest cave in on itself with longing to do something, to be something, to BE WORTHY. But they remain in my cupped fingers, untouched. Unwanted. Unworthy. The silver platters are handed out to others. The weighted words are awarded to those who write in casual bullet points, who stack their sentences in neat piles, clean and orderly, who sit with their laptops in a coffee shop, who craft and bake and are full of their own greatness and the weight of their words. 

My words are only, and only ever have been, and only ever will be, just that: Words.