I am obsessed

I am obsessed with words

How they formulate in cavernous depths of brain gyri,

Get thrown around in variations and structures repeatedly until spat out impatiently, to impress or to insult.

How they sew themselves together into sentences making sense of what our minds attempt to comprehend

How they are arrived at.

How they can just feel right and wrong before grammar can even begin to dictate what is possible and what is not.

How they pair with each other as if two halves of a whole or repel like poles alike.

How they meld together, eloquent and fluid, slowly merging to create images in heads and sensations worth remaining for others to listen to.

How they flow from curled tongues and puckered lips that savor their plump syllables and tart junctures,

The pauses and hurried waves of

Tongues that dance from roofs of mouths to teeth to lips, as if lovingly caressing them one last time before they tiptoe into the world, gone forever.

I am obsessed with words, how they are whispered into books and paper

Or shouted from fists and mouths held defiant like fortresses.

I am obsessed with words, I hear them all the time.

They stumble out of lips often, or pour onto paper faster than pen can meet it and sometimes simply remain an idea both shaken and stirred repeatedly until one day they emerge, transfixing,

Urging you to run to find the closest tools to jot it down before it escapes into your forgotten dreams.

I am obsessed with words.

They fill spaces with pregnant thoughts, ready to give birth to a bubble of verse and feed it to pleasing fruition.

I am obsessed with words, how they posses power to knock the air out of you, deflate ego and confidence as if child’s play.

How they hint and jab at scars and ease out stitches to re-open wounds with ease.

How they unfold beings in a few well placed questions and brings down the facade of a composed entity.

Indeed, whoever said words would never hurt them, never met a critique worth hearing.

I am obsessed with words, how they entangle and entice,

How they arouse without the slightest need for inflection

How they take on life themselves inside heads and bring to existence entire worlds.

How they call forth voices and characters and picturesque backgrounds and voices etched out clearly

How they create a world unto themselves, a world worth escaping to.

I am obsessed with words, I cannot escape them.

They fill my time and spaces and entice me without pause or concern for reason or memory.

They fling themselves at me at the most inopportune times, knowing that like a true addict, I will always come back to them, begging and pleading for more.

I am obsessed with words for they have been my longest friend; they have seen my tears and heard my muffled and shortly thereafter, uncontained laughter.

They have been the braille to my blinded mind and imagination.

They have been my secret garden of solace when the world seems too much to take on,

They have been my hope in times when courage seemed an imagined tale and reality a true foe,

They have been my time when nothing else seemed interesting enough to fill it, my drug that is not a drug and is much better for it,

They have been my sense to fathom things I had never before heard of,

They have been the secret addiction I fulfill when the world tells me I have better things to do

They have been my obsession, my compulsion, my unrelenting distraction. An obsession that I hope will only be freed from by death.



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