i stumble through words these days like roadblocks .. nothing i say is as sharp or precise as i want it/or it used to be.. i want my words to be weapons, dagger sharp with meaning and intent... i hate feeling as though my tongue is lead ladden, i hate not being able to write poetry... i feel like i am entering the fall with all my tools rusted, hands at my sides. eloquence is all i ever had ... the gift of articulation... it has made every history paper a composition, every bio lab a narrative ... i am so used to writing and expressing, even if it is just the same mudane things, english homework and lecture notes ... although they are only modes of distant observation, my tongue and pen are my only means of reflecting back the outside world