To de-scribe

Words are just a thing
We do to create a world
That garners a bit more sense
Than what we would 
Have been gifted in a day
Deemed normal by others
But others lose the sense of what 
Is normal, what is
Worth fighting for
Or worth wording
And most don't have words 
Or sense to be in a position
To describe things adequately
Anyway
And so
I forge on
With words, that fail, and I
Am both confounded by and
Thankful for
The inability to describe
The persistent absurdity that is my life
When what I do is scribe
And de-scribe things
For a living,
Fighting always for 
That living, and become
The rock
For those too afraid
Or too underpaid (as I).
Thank you (or whomever I need to be thankful to)
For the opportunity
To be all that you'd hope I wasn't,
And to write it, word for word,
When you fight so hard
To deny it.
You
Make me thankful
For who I am.