Once I was be little. A very short two sentence entity with colourful verbs. My hair stood out attached to the comma’s and I used my hand in jesture, like an exclamation point.
I was not an attraction. In addition I was to small to be seen. They all talked about me but rarely could they see me. I was invisable to most. Shy and misunderstood. I was be littled by the crowds of words that were surrounding me.
I was picked on. Abused and confused for the most part. I never knew who wanted me around and who would type me out then throw me away. No one cared for the unused letters or words that didnot make sense. I was tortured by the printer. His loud voice gruff and untethered by simplistic phrases, not by the vocalbulary that made things sparkle.
Small things, words with pazazz. I was not an attraction, I was me. Be little and often used to make a point. One word, one silly word. What is the point? I am be littled.
Caringly I survived. I worked my way up from the no nonsense I sentence structure to becoming aware of my verbage. I could contain so many adjectives it could make my nouns look surprisingly good. No one wants to be little, they just do.
Big words, bigger ideas, no thought. Think about it. Think about what?
The pages turn, history repeats itself numerous times. works come and go. Who remembers?
No longer thought of as belittled. No longer sought out as a temporary phrase that could be deleted when ever. What makes me something to be? Strength of word, large bold letters that surround me in contemporary type. Nothing repeated, a worldly perspective.
Be littled, be strong, be brave. Everything counts even the a.