Imperically Written
*A reminder to remember the passion
I don’t know what changed…
Words just got… hard. They used to be windows to my soul. Crafted together sensitively. Handled with well-manicured hands and stored in boxes with protective stuffing and wrapping. Reinforced with the wit and spice that would light the fire of anyone’s desire.
I had words that poured from my fingertips with the swiftness of a waterfall. You’d have to be too quick to escape the downfall of my reality and prepared for the lack of cushion at the cusp of my delivery. Words were like my best friend.
But just like those that couldn’t handle them coming from me… they disappeared.
My delivery was so gracefully executed they’d have to look back and re-examine where they came from. Like a twister of hope, spinning above your home. It understands you need this to feel safe… You need the warmth you’ve collected and placed strategically throughout those halls to keep your mind at peace. And before you know it… I’d let them drop… right on your favorite trinket; sending it so far from your [eye] that looking for it was so outrageous, you’d have to develop a new escape plan.
My words were so elegantly connected you’d think they were the bridge you could use to cross the chasm of your logic. And as soon as you’d hit the highest point over the valley they’d make you lose sight of where you were going and look straight down.
Fall?
I’d never let you fall.
They were there to help you build the foundation you needed before face-planting into the ground. Before drowning in your sea of excuses and misdirection.
They were there to help you.
So what happened to the masterpieces I’d paint with rhetoric and wisdom? The Tower of Piza I’d place in the minds of those waiting for a punch line and never expecting it would come… from me?
It’s almost as if my vocal chords were ripped out and replaced with candy canes for solace.
Minty sweet with no substance.
Sugar coated sour patch kids.
Warheads covered so thick in tang, my taste buds no longer exist.
Where did my rivers of chastisement run off to? Eluding my ever so delicate hands and eloping with youth?
How could I let them slip through my fingers and marry away from my presence?
What ever happened to the imperically written?
