And So I Write
I am not a proper person,
Life did not deal that hand.
I walked the path of ruffians,
Of drenched desert with harsh sand.
So I write what I can,
I cannot speak these things.
My mouth welds shut,
And my ears have a resounding ring.
I cannot hear tones,
The sounds of everything overwhelm.
So I read things,
And dissolve into my own realm.
My brain rattles,
Bouncing from place to place.
But when I read and write,
I find a peaceful grace.
Writing, I understand the world,
In ways both old and new.
I wish I could fully explain,
What my writing could mean to you.
When I speak
It’s a sour note.
The volume ill-adjusted,
Each word a bitter coat.
Life did not flip the coin,
In favor that offered me the grace
To look upon a person,
And read the truth in their face.
And so I write.
I read the words from others minds,
I ease my brain into a lull.
And disappear into worlds of all kinds.
Here I can speak,
I can listen with my being.
Each word spelled, dissected.
My mind unwinding their rings.
I hear so clearly,
In the world of letters.
I speak so eloquently,
In the written, I am better.
I cannot not be what I am.
I cannot move away from my words.
The keepers of my truths,
All spelled out and unfurled.
So I beg the Universe,
On hand, knee, and bowed head.
Do not take the scrawl from me,
The magical words where I’ve fled.
Let me write until I grow brittle,
Till my hands cramp and ache.
Let me spew my twisting cosmos,
Till even my mind breaks.
