These Words Suck

I fight with my words.

I'd yell if I knew they could hear me.

I ask them to play nice.

But like an elusive toddler,

They point and laugh and dart out of reach,

Devoid of meaning, form, or function.

I grab my fine tooth comb.

Down to my hands and knees,

I try to trick them to say what I want.

Struggle, struggle, struggle.

Push, pull, fight.

Edit. Edit. Edit.

I curse the backspace key

And all its productive damage.

If only I could brute force the words,

Club them over the head.

But they don't respond to demands.

So I dance and woo and compliment.

Seething, I nudge them in the right direction.

Filled with loathing,

I slowly rock them to sleep.

Some day they may tell the story right,

But the colors they paint 

Never look quite right.