And my own I can keep.
Sound from my throat
Vibrates out through my lips.
Chest full, strong lungs.
What do I want to say?
Everything.
Everything, but words
Cannot begin to convey it.
writer, book reviewer, daydreamer
And my own I can keep.
Sound from my throat
Vibrates out through my lips.
Chest full, strong lungs.
What do I want to say?
Everything.
Everything, but words
Cannot begin to convey it.
How often do you think about the words you use?
Do you say certain words because you like the clarity, the directness
of the ideas they present?
How about the way they roll off your tongue,
or force your mouth to contort
into wild shapes you hope will never be caught
in a photograph?
Do you like words that sound heavy
or soft?
Words that bring in other cultures,
nationalities, tastes, smells,
summer days
and the moments after rain?
Words that hurt more than a blow to the face
or words that comfort
just as much as a friend’s embrace?
How often do you think of the words that are origins of words,
The ocean of language
is never still,
it swirls and eddies
just as much as the world
that gives them life.
The hand on my face presses down, sliding its fingers into my gills. No oxygen, no screaming, I suppose it thinks. My mouth proves otherwise. I have teeth, I have lungs, I have a voice that belts out an alert to all around me. There is a creature here wanting to crush you. It’s got me. Stay back, else it will get you, too.
Naturalist and multi-award winning author
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