The Inarticulate Premise

There is something about expression which brings finality to word.
Fluidity hardens as the ink dries on page;
And control passes once scanned by eyes or slotted in ears.
These words aren’t yours anymore; they belong to them now.

And so the fear blankets over this assemblage of words
Contemplation of unclothing parts, to be shared for what they are worth.
But there is hesitation.
What if my sequence of words color me in ways unthought of?
As if my diction restricts the truth of my complexity.

So here I sit, each word perched on its nuanced interpretation;
Understood differently by those who meet it.
(Un)known data points creating stories through interpolation,
Punctuated by breath, insecurity and imagination sparked by silence.
How audacious to believe I could capture its intricacies;
Fear that you believe me the same.

And as I swell with words which once swam in possibility.
Words that are now robbed of movement, stifled.
Because those that should have been released are imprisoned by fear of inarticulation;
Overcrowding what little is left of coherency.
I reach this point of delirium and I choose expression:
For being silenced is a greater injustice than being misunderstood. 



Mountains don’t get as much glory as the sea

Mountains don’t get as much glory as the sea.
Yet, you are sturdy and resolved
Not wavering and uncertain like the waters.
Your presence is always felt; your shadows calm me in its imposition.
Not like the sea, demanding respect and instilling fear.

Sometimes I’m frightened by how high I have to climb,
It is more comfortable floating on the surface,
But once on top of you, I am only reminded of how far I’ve come.
Things are lighter up there.
The sea can only push me down into its dark pressures,
Crushing my lungs.

I will never drown in your being;
I may fall, but even then I’ll be at your feet.
Your tantrums are infrequent,
Unlike the constant ebbs and flows of the sea,
Even in the quiet of the night.

You may not cradle me like the waters;
You may not be malleable enough to slip through fingers;
You may not wash over me;
But you are always there when I need you.

Mountains don’t get as much glory as the sea.

Stable Contradictions

Memories etched in falsehood, 
Happiness fraudulently expressed in the pulses of our veins.
Yet the sensation keeps us alive.
Gone are the attractions, 
But the repulsion is fortified in our togetherness

Curvatures curated by the fable of hope,
Only thin veils wrap the warmth of solitude.
Yet coldness does not return.
Gone are the joys,
But the anger is at bay from our fortress

Delicately birthed through concrete glass,
Sharp cuts taste sweet.
Yet engulfed in your freedom is stifled.
Gone are the frames of the mirrors, 
But the reflections tell stories bold, 

Outside views sun shines so pretty,
Harp strings play keys to the beat, 
Damaged clay is my surroundings.
Gone is the laughter to complete.

I don’t want to see your face around here, 

Wrote this as a free write listening to Esthero – Gone

I Wrote A Letter

I wrote a letter to the wind, wished
each word to dissipate into the
elements of the world and settle the
matters of my heart. But the winds
blew erratically. Some winds cradled
me with comfort, others shook me
into realization.

So I wrote a letter to a dandelion,
sent my words with her wings, saw
them dance in the sky. What a
beautiful dance we shared. But
tomorrow I saw her offsprings
scattered across my field.

So I wrote a letter to a tune, let my
words reverberate through the cords
of a cello. What a clumsy game to
play. Inexperience shrieked at every
sharp note and my reed snapped
from dehydration.

So I wrote a letter to you…
and you read it