response of words.
falling in love with certain individual's capacity to have the alphabet composed just for them into graceful imagery and biting arguments and resenting my own lack of finesse when it comes to this handling of fragile words.
i like being able to kick my words around, beat them until their bloody swollen syllables lose all meaning. give me curses and overused pop culture references, at least i know they've got it in them to be thrown through this scratched window one more time. there will be tiny fragments of grace twinkling all over the stained carpet.
writers never got anywhere chugging away on sprite and sunshine. all the best authors, manufactured through a rigorous diet of smoke, whisky, and sex, eat their words with plenty of salt.
ah, but you love a man who compares your eyes to an ocean and fancies his love for you some unconquered abyss of mystery. you search those dandelion words out of this decaying mass to try to live up to your prime time series finale fantasy. you have no care for dignity or the beauty of a man's scars if he can't lay those sweet nothings, that sweet seranade, this sweet talk right into your ear with no dark shadows attached.
flowery words pinned up to your stable love affair; words that have no grain, no sharp edges, no rusted nails, provide you a safe parade of stability.
but these words, tumbling around in the air around me, leave me dry ... and unsatisfied.
how i enjoy the rise of piling insult upon injury and the overwhelming heat in words driven straight to me by passion. i yearn for the shocked syllables of taboo and the sticky letters of sex and the dark, clumsy words of love.
the frustration and complications when i can't get these words out fast enough are enough to drive me to a gas station for more cigarettes. the twisted romanticism of pounding away at the shadows of three am wielding only catching words and fingertips lined with ink. i love that i hate my lack of grace, my poor word choice, my inadequate talent. it only pushes me further.
in the words of my favorite anti-hero, "i hate it here." i hate it here in this head, in this need to communicate, in this possible story. but i stay here, tearing away at my vocabulary, to try to tell you what i really mean. i love that i hate it here where i can use the same words over and over again and fuck up style until it's comfortable enough to sleep in.
because you know it's true that i'm better in the letters that i write, and i'm more honest with handwriting as my face, and i say more with a pen than my tongue.
i'm not going to settle for poor words or words that wrap themselves in pleasantries only to disappoint me with the truth later on in the scene.
i hate these words that can't make it out of my choking voice. i hate these words that aren't enough to show you. i hate these words that i love so dearly. i hate these words with such passion and such energy that i can't help but to hope they last me one more day.
