word life life is unlike words, it's like living, breathing verbs.
i'm still flexing my lungs through the slats of this translucent acrylic cage
pulsating rusty letters through these veins page by page,
feeling the coil spring coil tighter til spring,
and then heaving ice into oceans with the exhalation of summer's golden trumpeting sunbeams;
dancing and singing.
i've momentarily severed my tongue and given up the rungs inside my chest
so i can no longer escalate higher along my spine by scaling meditative rhythmic breaths.
i've chosen something else, apparently;
evolutionarily speaking, i've been told by some who choose to see me this way or that, that i've regressed,
as if they think that by thinking a thing or two they somehow separate themselves from we,
look at me,
and say "i'm not impressed."
words words words, what shall i do with you?
i'd like to say, i'd like to say,
i'd like to not say; just let the words coming my way hush themselves
into the kind of breeze that nods at the tip of your earlobes.
just let me be.
eyes set upon me hungrily devouring the cracks in my skin
where my humanity tries to bury its so-called sins,
resting your mouth,
laying silent nets to catch your head
weaving serpentine righteousness roundabouts
like snakes shedding their skin could change their name;
your young camouflage doesn't reveal anything about me,
it's your love that is not the same.
(DON'T PANIC! this isn't about you, Rachel :)