It’s the Words That Make Me See

It’s the words that make me see
the colors in your eyes
the sighing of the wind in the trees
and war
it’s the words that spin and dance and stab
they bend and mold and smooth
and sting and scar
it’s the words that I scratch in secret and
some that I print in eloquent sweeping strokes under a bright noon sun
words fall from my hair
shaken off like a wet dog
others cling in my head and heart
light dandelion fluff ones
others smoking hot and heavy and branded on to my soul
while I weep
and they comfort me
and push me forward
hold me back
and I curse them and deny them
and love them and search for just the right one
while so many others strut and swagger and flaunt
and I turn my back and tell myself to ignore
to forget them
but the words
the words
are always there to remind me
what I am
what I am not
what I seek
it’s the words that make me
that let me




About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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