National Coming Out Day

tomorrow


three years ago tomorrow
frozen with fear
i told the truth.
their broken hearts
shot splinters
through my flesh
and i bled shame.
i harvested memories
and guarded them as secrets
some still kept hidden
in my darkest corners.

tomorrow
dressed in dignity
i will tell the truth
like i did yesterday
and the day before.
tomorrow
i will hope again
that their jigsaw hearts
have been reconstructed
enough to keep me
when i scatter their pieces.

tomorrow tomorrow
brimming with change
i will yell the truth
at the top of my lungs
and see   m  y  s  e  l  f   at last
in the mirror
where   m  e   was held captive
for the hefty ransom
of my every waking moment.
tomorrow will arrive
screeching like a falcon
and so shall i.

9:37 sunlight

A whispered Saturday

Window open

Breeze makes the door shiver

Everything feels endless

Precariously balanced

On a moment’s whim

Awoke to 9:37 sunlight

After a warm night

Leave my pulse racing

Meet me anew

And be my nebulous spring

When the ice melts at last

So shall we

But the crinkle of paper

And laughter on the lawn

Will keep me in happy servitude

Until day’s end

Quick Announcement!

Hello friends,

I want to extend a loving "thank you" to everyone who takes the time to read what I write. It is a wonderful feeling to know that people enjoy your work, and sharing my words with you has been nothing short of wonderful so far.

That being said, there is one major(ish) change happening around here this year. It cannot be honestly said that I have posted regularly in the past many months, but it may become far less regular depending on how I choose to organize my work over the next year of my life. This is due to my decision to actively write at least one poem per day this year in an effort to catalogue the status of my heart and mind over a set timespan.

I hope to capture the ups and downs of my life in short poems over the next twelve months, and at the end of 2018, I plan to compile them into a book format and attempt to get my work published. It is my personal goal to have a book of poems published by the beginning of the 2019-2020 school year.

So again, thank you to everyone who has visited SO&OP, and I look forward to producing a physical publication of words to make you feel.

In vulnerability and strength,
Hannah

Wanderer's pond

Feet swing from the knees

Dangling from the fishing dock.



Cast a line

Into the dark water

Where stars swim.



Toes dip into speckled quietude

An ecosystem of breathless relief.



Sideways glance

Toward the pond floor

Where daylight dies.



Look but don’t jump, dear.

Home for now is solid ground.

City of Ants

can you see it? 

all of reality in one swift blow,

your life before your eyes.

can you feel it?

the weight of eternity 

and the helium nothingness. 

watch meaningless moments

flash backwards.

underwater smalltalk 

bubbles and swells

from fuzzy peripherals,

just grey noise. 

cotton candy lights

glow beneath your feet.

keep your toes above ground,

careful not to disturb

the city of ants

bustling and buzzing 

with somewhere

and something

to be.

breathe in the absent atmosphere,

all you can sip.

quickly now,

before gravity remembers 

your hollow bones

and sends you flaming
back to the land of the living.

Frostbite

Winter is coming. So very metaphoric. I have a lot of feelings about things like winter and the things it reminds me of. I've had a few wonderful winters - winters full of bright new adventures and having someone to miss. And I've had less wonderful winters. I'm trying not to be pessimistic about this one.




Frostbite    11/20/17


It all feels colder now,

And winter will come and go

With only a wall between me and my snowstorm. 

Love is frostbite, but I don’t want to wear gloves. 

Wandering out into the frozen grey

Leaves a bitter taste. 

I’ll stay inside and thaw awhile,

Watching and wishing through the window.

And I'll be a lighthouse

I'm back with more poetic content, kids. Buckle up.
Please enjoy this quick poem. I think my writing is of a higher quality when I handwrite, but this one was typed on my computer just five minutes ago. We shall see.


And I'll be a lighthouse. 10/18/17

Wrap me up in haze.
Show me how, 
And I’ll be a lighthouse,
Battered but bright. 
When it rains, it pours. 

Fold me into your world.
Let me breathe,
And I’ll be a spring well,
Warm and wonder-filled.
But lead me not into temptation.

Make me the muse.
Reach for me,
And I’ll be a spectacle,
Brilliant but bruised.
The show must go on.

Green tea over ice

In a mostly unsuccessful effort to fill my long summer days with purpose, I have once again returned to writing poetry.  Please enjoy, friends.

Green tea over ice.

Headphones in, 

Listening to nothing. 

The words don’t flow outward

When words fly inward. 

Flip the switch.

Cut off the intake. 

Storehouses full,

My cup runneth over.

One sips, two sips.

Green sips, blue lips. 

The words don’t flow outward

When words freeze over. 

Crank the thermostat to 95. 

Wait for the thaw of spring

And the melt of summer. 

Glaciers turned rivers,

Rivers turned seas. 

Filtered,

Distilled,

Steeped. 
Green tea over ice. 

Tethered

At the piano, playing two keys at a time
And singing anything that comes to mind
Right hand improvising in C major

Ironic.

Left hand hung between my knees

Slumped. 

Tonight the upright piano
Settled into antique rugs
Is my therapist

Finally. 

Verses fall out of my mouth
Makeshift and muddy

Unadulterated. 

The hammers and strings understand
Homebound and hidden

Forgotten. 

The Inner Workings of a Brain on Sunshine

Hello all,

I would like to apologize to those of you who eagerly await my next post - there are millions of you, I'm sure. This semester has been a whirlwind to say the least. I can no longer promise poems twice a week, as you may have already gathered by the lack of poems entering your brain from this blog. My sincerest apologies. HOWEVER, I still love writing and sharing my poetry, and I hope to do so as often as I can. 

That being said, I have quite often found myself sitting and simply writing my thoughts in a poetic-ish "stream of consciousness" format. I will share an excerpt from one warm day a couple weeks ago. As you may notice, I have some formatting schemes that I am experimenting with, mostly concerning capitalization of letters. Bear with me, and please enjoy. 

----------------------

There are so many ways.

I'd like to take many.

Terrible, I only have two feet

that must travel in the same direction.

What a novel concept

to sell words.

All my life

I thought words were free.

stuck in the weather

that makes you fickle

about your jacket.

i'll never understand

why people travel in herds

when you find the most beautiful places

all on your own

here they come

the thundering herd

chattering and stomping the grass down

in a cloud of limbs

here i sit

the introspective maple

seeping with raw, undefined sweet

but only until the sky is grey

and my leaves turn cold with the weather

metaphors only really work

when you know what you're talking about.

the sunflower reaches ever for the sun

but never touches it

hung love

between the trees

swinging lightly

in the breeze

ruffled hair

tied with ease

the hammock follows

her drowsy decrees

The Secret I Didn't Tell

Hello readers,

Over the last year or so, several issues have been on my mind. One of these issues is the ever-present culture of rape, sexual assault, human trafficking, and related topics that are enormous problems in the U.S. and around the world. So many brave people have shared their stories as victims and survivors of sexual assault, and by doing so, have helped raise awareness of the brutal reality of these horrible crimes.

I have thought long and hard about sharing this poem with my friends and family, but I think it is time. I don't want or need your pity for what happened to me. I have had years to come to terms with it, and I am okay. I simply want everyone to know that sexual assault is real, and it is in your hometown. It is in your family. It happens to your friends and neighbors. It happened to me.



the secret i didn't tell

i've seen hands
(cold, clammy)
wander.
i used to wear Wranglers.
i don't anymore.
they smell like
silage and robbery.
(forced entry is only
taken seriously at the bank.)
my hands were cold, too.
it was winter
and i guess my Wranglers
fit him like a glove.
(i wonder if the bible
keeps him warm these days
if he stands at the pulpit
like he always said he would)

Today wasn't a snow day and I'm upset.

Happy Tuesday!

If you read my last post and were concerned, fear not. My crisis has subdued.

After a 3 day weekend of working and being stuck in my room due to an ice storm, we are back to classes. I had sincerely hoped they would cancel classes today, but good old UNI hasn't had a snow day in 1.7 million years.

Note: I have lost count of the times I have almost fallen on my face after slipping on the icy sidewalk.

As my motivation to do anything is dwindling in the single digits, I haven't written any new poems lately. I hope you all enjoy this poem I wrote back in December.


in the winter. 12/8/16

when the wind takes a breath
and the soft laughter
of the cold air
falls in shining pieces,
i should take your hand
though we both shiver.
i should hold you
to keep you warm
when the wind once again runs
and our faces grow red
with stinging chill
and laughter.
i should.

Back to the Grind

Happy Tuesday!

It's been alternating rain and snow all day here in Cedar Falls, making for a miserable, slushy, windy walk to classes. As I walked down the gross, grey sidewalk, I kept trying to remind myself that everything is easier when the weather is nice. Everything is easier when you get into the swing of things. It's day two of classes and I'm already quite overwhelmed, but I know I'll get into a groove.

I'm sitting in the library drinking a cup of coffee. You know what that means. Poem time. The first piece today isn't really a poem, but rather a short list of statements. I don't really do New Year's resolutions, so these are my equivalent - intentions for self- and life-improvement.


2017

wake up and start the day
do it for yourself and want it
get serious, but keep your life
encourage others - it will encourage you
earn your keep, earn your seat
commit, but only to what you can handle
stay humble, but have confidence
try everything
ask questions
effort is good. force is not.
savor every moment
give your full attention
don't compare yourself to anyone except yourself
be available and remember yourself


This next poem is untitled. In fact, I don't even remember writing it.


1/1/17

her fingers were crooked
they were bent into the
same shape as her heart.
not ugly, just different.
her face, too, was askew
in a vague sort of way.
she had so much inside
that it all gathered up in
the corners to whisper
the day's gossip.
her angled teeth fell into a row,
but sometimes she forgot.

First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage

Happy Thursday!

I am currently sitting in the backseat of my dad's pickup, hurtling down I-80. It's wedding time. My brother, Garrett, is getting married in just a couple of days and I'm doing my best to fulfill my self-assigned role of "Person Who Avoids Creating Even More Stress" in the next 72 hours. All the wedding preparations aside, I'm very excited to see family and friends at this weekend's festivities.
After all the fancy schmancy events surrounding marriage and such, I'll be returning to UNI! Classes begin on Monday and I have never been more excited to go back to school. I miss my pals.

Wiiiiiiithout further ado, here are a couple short poems.

twenty too many. 1/5/17

i think

i’ll regret

living in a time

that didn’t

hold on

to anything.

the only thing

this time 

will be remember for

is being
too many things.

thrift store souvenirs. 1/5/17

i wear sweaters

that make me look

like i’ve lived.

they make me look

like i’ve been.

they make me seem

like i’ve seen.

maybe if i wear

a sweater

that’s travelled,

i’ll feel like

i’ve travelled

too.

Happy New Year!

Happy Tuesday!

I didn't post on Thursday because I was visiting some friends in northern Iowa, but fear not. I have returned.

This week is going to be one huge crazy whirlwind. My brother is getting married on Saturday, and everyone is in psycho wedding mode... Not naming any names... The next several days will be full of preparations and family and so many other things I probably don't even know about yet. What a thrill. To top it all off, classes start at UNI on the following Monday. That being said, I really am excited for this wedding. I'm so happy for Garrett and Marissa. They're adorable.

Since I didn't post on Thursday, I think I'll post two short poems here today. You good with that? Cool.


blank. 1/1/17

thank god you don't mind
silence
cause i have the hardest time
forming thoughts
when you're around.



poems are raised on child support. 1/2/17

all the most
beautiful things
are products of
tragedy

synthetic heartbreak
isn't hard to spot
i should know
i've played victim

so put an ad
in the paper

WE BUY TRAUMA

and invest in
some nightmares

Post-Christmas Depression?

Happy Tuesday!

You know that feeling you used to get as a kid the day after Christmas or your birthday? It's that feeling you would get after looking forward to something so long and then all of a sudden it's over in the blink of an eye. Yeah, I guess adults don't get that feeling after Christmas so much. One thing about growing up that I think we all hate is that every year special days start to feel a little less magical.

Anyway, this morning when I heard that Carrie Fisher (best known for her role as Princess Leia in Star Wars) had a heart attack, I thought, "Certainly she won't die. Certainly there won't be any more deaths of beloved public figures this year." I was wrong. My best pal Lauren called me just a few hours ago and told me the horrible news. Carrie was always a loud and proud warrior on the mental illness frontier, and even though I can't claim to be a big Star Wars fan, her role as Leia meant more to me growing up than I can say. What an empowering woman. She will be dearly missed.

Without further ado, a poem. No drugs were used prior to or in the making of this poem.

Arrested for possession. 12/12/16

Something still tugs at the doorknob

demanding release.

It was out of sight, out of mind.

It was distracted by impostor words,

but still it fights captivity

with no freedom in sight.

Words make great identity thieves.

Words make great drugs.

For a while, everything feels

like an escalated version

of normal

until suddenly everything is

worse than before.

That's the thing about drugs, though.

Some of them eat your soul,

and some of them cure cancer.

'Twas the night before Christmas...

Merry Christmas Eve!

I was at a family reunion on Thursday night, so I didn't get a chance to post a poem. I hope you won't hold a grudge.

In case you are completely unaware of time and space, today is Christmas Eve! How very festive. My family opened gifts this morning and now I am acutely aware of my inevitable adulthood. What was once a day full of toys has turned into a day of coffee makers, fancy lotions, and socks. The worst part is that I was still just as thrilled. I'm practically 150 years old, but it's fine. Any of my friends would tell you that I'm the grandpa of the group. Yes, grandpa. If you haven't seen me in a while, I should tell you that my wardrobe mostly consists of oversized man sweaters. I'm definitely going for the "sophisticated patriarch" aesthetic. Irony is a hobby of mine.

Anyway, I'll get on to the poem. This one was written almost two weeks ago, another of the many written all at once late one night. I think this might have been about a dream I had... or something. I don't really remember, but please enjoy!

Working woman. 12/12/16

Folding chair.

Pen.

Paper.

I sit on the curb of the street paved with brick

with a sign that reads

"One dollar, one poem."

People pass.

Wait.

Wait.

Finally, a salt and pepper man pauses

for a moment by my chair.

"Write me one."

I nod.

Think.

Scribble.

His beard reminds me

 of the jagged cliffs of Wyoming.

He reads.

Smiles.

A dollar falls into my hand.

I grin,

holding the crumpled bill.

I'm a poet now.

Thank you so much for reading this hot mess of a blog. I truly appreciate it. 

Have a safe, healthy, and happy holiday season. <3

PSA: PUPPIES ARE ADORABLE

Happy Tuesday!

Today's poem is pretty late. My apologies. Without the structured schedule of school, it's hard to remember what day it is, what year it is, what planet I'm on... things of that nature.
I've been spending some time lately with a couple little doggos named Lizzie and Bodie (big thanks to the Bensons) and I am thoroughly in love. One thing they don't tell you about college is that you will be completely deprived of contact with little fluffy friends. I've decided I'm going to kidnap the little puppers and keep them for my own. Don't worry, I've informed the Bensons of this plan. They don't approve, but if I flee the country there's no way they can stop me. Perfect.

Anyway, here's an eclectic poem I just wrote within the past 15 minutes while cuddling with Bodie and remembering that I was supposed to post a poem today and realizing I didn't have my notebook around. Behold.

Tension? 12/20/16

We didn’t talk

Our eyes met

I think

But there wasn’t a word

And that’s fine.

It was too loud, anyway.

All the sound 

left me feeling sunburnt

and stirred.

Sometimes

you pull at my fingertips

but the rest of me

is left unbothered.

It’s all just part

of the ghost town

these days.

I’m older now. 

WOW! A post on SATURDAY??

Happy Saturday!

Surprise! I'm posting a poem on a Saturday. Name a more shocking event. I'll wait.

I just finished my first semester at the University of Northern Iowa, and it was the most challenging and exciting few months of my life so far. I made a ton of great friends who I will miss unbearably over break, participated in some of the most fascinating musical ensembles and productions I have ever been a part of, and passed all my classes with flying colors (I hope... Grades aren't out yet...).
I've learned so many things this semester about myself and the world, in classes and in daily life. One of the most fun things I've learned this semester is that writing poetry is an amazing stress-reliever. Another great thing I've learned is that some other people I know actually enjoy poetry too! I'm so happy that there are people who like to read what I write. Thank you.

Enough of that mushy stuff. Let's get into some poetry, shall we? I just wrote this one about 10 minutes ago and couldn't wait to share it. Enjoy!


December. 12/17/16

Here, in the cold winter, 

where everything is covered 

in a phantom sheet of ice, 

the steady and shallow 

inhale and exhale of the hills continues. 

Dusted in bitter white, 

all things seem silent

all things seem still.

As early the daylight departs

along the highway 

and through the winter winds,

an orange glow emerges over the hill.

As the warm candle flickers

in winter’s kitchen,

so flickers a home in the distance,

casting a hellish glare

about the somber, snowy scape. 

The air is probably warm there

and the white dust has certainly melted

with the walls.

In the movies, with fire comes music

to accompany the crackling of the flames
but now, from afar, there are no sounds.

One down, seven(ish) to go.

Happy Thursday!

Today is my voice jury. For those of you who aren't music majors, a jury is a solo performance in front of the entire voice faculty to determine your grade for your semester of applied lessons, as well as comments and suggestions from the faculty. I perform at 11:00 am and I am currently just hoping that my voice is cooperating by then. If all goes well, I will walk out of that room having successfully completed my first semester as a college student. Let's hear it for three weeks off!!

Despite all the stress and nerves that are controlling my body at the current moment, it is Thursday, and therefore time for a poem. Please enjoy.

Revel. 12/11/16

They were never taught

to take time

to look at the moon

or listen to the leaves.

They were raised

on a schedule

of black lines and gavels

of yellow lines and travels,

not on dreams and wonder.

They are learning

in bewilderment

to break old habits

to breathe the air

to hold the precious.

They are older now

a childhood has passed

between the teeth of the highway's

enduring grip.

All poetry BOGO!!! Today only!!!

Happy Tuesday!

It's finals week here at UNI. Yay. With finals week comes a whole lot of sitting around in the "intensified quiet hours" of the residence halls, which is more than enough to make me a bit stir-crazy. But I just got back to my room from getting a little back massage and petting puppies at the student de-stress event in the union, I've got my coffee in hand, and I'm ready to share some poetry.

I wrote a lot of poetry last night. Like... at least 5. So I think I'll share a couple of them with you today. Sound good? I hope so, because I'm going to do it. You're welcome.

I'm struggling with a title for this one. 12/12/16

Soft nest,

bird perched

among soft light

composing his song

for tomorrow's dawn

as he chirps

silently in his head

imagining a dawn

of red and purple

to sing aloud his tune

set under gentle yellow glow

Above, the robin rests

for morning fast approaches

but the little bird

in his soft nest

sits awake, heart full

of music and light

in the dark night.

His mind stirs with 

melodies for the daylight.

---------------------------------------------------------

Always, Present. 12/12/16

Dear Former,

I am well. I am better.

I am home.

We searched so long, and I found it.

I find rescue in lines and ink, now.

I know you were looking for a hero.

I am finding love in all the right ways.

I am among many, and I hold few close,

but this is nothing new.

The change lies in the few -

they are true, Former. True. 

I am still doubtful, Former.

My worst habits remain.

I am still searching sometimes.

But, Former, I am well.

I am better.

Always,

Present

Define "Relax"

Happy Thursday!

I am about to rush across campus in the arctic tundra of Cedar Falls to take 2 back-to-back final exams, but it's Thursday so that means it's POEM TIME!!! Cue the party music.

This poem was written back in April. Full disclosure, the original poem that is scribbled in pencil in my book is a bit different than what I have published here. April Hannah thought it would be a good idea to use the words "psychopath" and "longs" in this poem... December Hannah disagrees. So without further ado...

Limited. 4/19/16

When you tell me stories

or about what's on your mind,

my heart pangs with jealousy.

Not because I don't consume

your every moment. 

Au contraire, my dear. 

I am jealous of all

the lives I haven't lived,

the memories I haven't made,

the thoughts I haven't had.

They all seem infinitely

more full than my own,

and my heart wants to 

experience everything

and remember everything

and think everything.

I am so limited.

It's been a while.

Happy Tuesday!

It's been a few days, hasn't it? I decided this morning, after realizing I haven't been posting every day, that I will be posting on Tuesdays and Thursdays only. It is on these days that I have an hour to sit on a cozy couch in the library with a cup of coffee and feel inspired. So there you have it.

Today's poem is quite simply a list. I have been trying to create a habit of mindfully recognizing one thing that I enjoy about life each day. Too often I get so swept up in my day-to-day events that I forget to stop and appreciate the fact that I exist in this world. How cool is that? Especially around finals, I think it is really important to take a moment and think about all the great things that exist for us to enjoy. So the following is a small portion of the things I love about being alive. Enjoy.

A Happy List. 12/6/16

Late nights with good friends

Light reflected on water

Genuine laughter

Crunching leaves

Brisk air

Unexpected beauty

Spontaneous adventures

Warm sunlight on a cold day

Deep sounds

City lights

Soft blankets

The shady spot by the art building

The smell of clean laundry

Nicknames

Hot coffee

Cozy sweaters

People with passion

New beginnings

Jeans off, footie pajamas on.

Happy Thursday!

I'm sitting in my comfy chair wearing red striped footie pajamas and talking to my best pal/roommate Lauren (who was just cast in UNI's production of Into the Woods!!! I'm so proud of you, bud!!!) after a long day of speaking and singing. A cup of tea and some poetry sounded like a good way to relax, so tonight I'm sharing with you a poem that was written a few weeks ago while hanging out with some friends on a Saturday night. They were intrigued by a bona fide Teen who actually wrote poetry. Like, for real. So they said, "Dude, you should write one right now. Just write a poem." And this is what transpired.

Untitled. 11/12/16

Now every smile seems more cordial,

every laugh seems more sincere,

and I look for a face that will behold mine with adoration

for now I see the world as a constellation

where every life lies - every life coincides

and we all meet each other at the same coordinate.

Maybe I'll find another constellation to engulf me - my last seems so far.

Let's be stars, let's be planets, 

let's be alive in parallel existence

and intersect in all the right places

Poems from the Dirty U

Happy Wednesday!

I'm very very very hungry so I'm not going to spend much time with an introduction before I rush off to find some food, but I just want to say how excited I am that people are enjoying my poems! If you want to keep up to date on SO&OP, give me a follow! And always feel free to leave a comment or share with your friends - the more the merrier.

Here's a poem that I wrote last week while I was home for Thanksgiving - hence "Dirty U" which is what the kids call Underwood these days. The following is based on a true story.

Hometown 11/25/16

Back home, 2 a.m.

Driving through the cold November air

34 degrees blowing through

the open sunroof so I can see the stars

as they flicker to the mellow bass

singing from the stereo.

Parked, seat back,

trying to find the little dipper

but I know nothing of constellations.

I wonder why the passenger seat sits empty

and if other people see the stars in color

and why my memories feel borrowed.

My car returns to the highway,

my hand reached up into the air,

and I feel the music pound.

"That's poetic," I say to myself,

"I must remember to write that down."

Flashback to my emo days...

Happy Tuesday!
 I'm sitting in a comfy chair in the library, drinking a caramel latte, and wearing festive Christmas socks. Before I head off to my Holocaust Literature class (ooh, ahh) I thought I might post another poem.
This is another old one I found the other day on a random piece of printer paper mixed into a large pile of secondhand sight-singing books. I have no idea when I wrote this poem, but I imagine it was sometime during my sophomore year of high school when I thought everything was romantically tragic. Silly me. Anyway, enjoy this untitled poem about some sort of inner turmoil I was feeling as a 15 year old.

Untitled. Date unknown.

Eclectic bodies and

Alien hearts and

Foreign concepts and

Unworldly thoughts

Whatever turns heads

Turns the world 'round

Gravity pulls us back to our beds

But we take you all over town

Hiding around the corner

A piece of the galaxy sleeps

Dressed in business formal

Disguised as the daughter who weeps

She lies waiting

Speaking in tongues only she understands

Always

Welcome to SO&OP

Hello, and thank you for checking out Stars, Overreactions, and Other Poisons! If you're into free verse poetry, you've come to the right place. Here I'll post my favorite original poems, so please enjoy! Tell your friends! Poetry is cool, kids!

To get this off to a running start, here is the first poem I wrote in my first notebook dedicated solely to poetry. I was determined to fill that notebook with poems, writing one per day. Let's just say that didn't last long. But here I hope to stay diligent in writing poetry, and hopefully any readers I have will keep me accountable. So without further ado...

Untitled. 4/11/16

I want to write poetry

the kind that makes you feel

like a helium balloon

and a lead bullet

all at once

the kind that makes you see

a starless night sky

on the ceiling

of your lonely bedroom

at 2 am

when the world seems blank.

I want to write poetry

the kind that presses

on your ribs

with the force

of a thousand brand new lies

and a thousand antique truths.

Poetry made of

city streets

you've never walked,

country roads

you've never taken.

But my words

my words are few

and far between

and lost in jumbled letters.