To many, I am probably a mere child, attempting to sound as an adult by way of large words and pretentious writing.

Maybe so, but I believe I have some insight most so-called adults may never have.  If that is pretentious, well, you do not have to read my writing.  I am mostly fine with that–my fragile ego will recover. 

See me offer a fragile smile, broken by nothingness that comes with the knowledge that one’s creation is not even worth a glance.  See the sadness in my eyes, knowing that you might learn something, or might have something to teach me–yet here you are, walking away.  See the knowledge that I will recover–rubber always bounces back, abuse me as you want, I don’t mind, really, I don’t–and rest assured that you have done nothing–nothing–nothing but leave a scar on the surface of my fragile heart.

I have as much to offer you as you have to offer me.  I can be jovial and informal, yes, but when I lapse into a mode of formality I actually enjoy it, provided I can manage to avoid the unnaturalness that comes with such stilted language–for the most part, at least. 

For proper language is, by nature, stilted and stiff.

It may not be perfect.  It may appear as though I am playing dress-up in mother’s best clothing.

Yet, this is my best effort.

In time, I will grow with my vocabulary and my knowledge, and perhaps I will make more sense then.  Perhaps I will even have more grounds on which to make the arguments I am making today.

Still, I do believe there is worth in my writing.  I have something valuable to say.  I will later portray it in simpler form, but not today.

Today is a day for linguists.