Semantic Distance

i never understood what finding your voice really meant. after reading quote-unquote quality books, their prose ceased to be unique. i’m not sure what i mean here. maybe i mean the prose found a rhythm in each novel, the clauses segmented. as a student i attempted this staring down at my loose-leaf paper in grade school trying to find a written genesis, an inception to a masterpiece, something my essay has yet to be, rather, has yet to take form. now i delete, type, delete, type uncommon turns of phrase, substituting collections of words easily traced back to, re-reading, reading, and reading again.

i didn’t finish the essay.

i knew that i had the words in me. i have too many thoughts not to.

the written word remains my greatest form of representation—communication—even explanation. words are everywhere for me to discover. of course, words are everywhere. it’s a natural code.

the words leave me.

i’m selfish with vernacular—not easily giving it away even to those i love. i’m sure everyone has a personal lexicon.