Nov 2015
Sometimes I talk to you the best when you're nowhere around. Like there are things I can't address with an audible sound or an eloquent progression of adjectives and nouns when I feel the weight of eyes running across my face.
It's just the space in which I reside, communication commits suicide and I'll slide out something sly or a bad joke and try my best to let it go, because I know you don't hold it against me.
It's not that you make me nervous, I just render myself wordless. My vocal chords are worthless when the sensations are so heavy. Concepts seem obscure and on the tip of my tongue, but too scared to take the plunge. They turn back and run and my silence seems dumb, distant or despondent.
Sometimes I have too much to say, so I'll stutter to articulate a notion that would take me all day to actually feel like what I wanted to convey was done justice, or worse, I'll reflectively reiterate and ramble redundancies, rearranging rhetorical rumblings, remorsefully reaching to recite a redeeming rendering, like an OCD patient switching her light on and off endlessly because it didn't "feel" the way it should have in her mind the first time, the tenth time, the hundredth...
Though when I'm alone, it's a completely different scenario. Someday I hope you hear me speaking through the speakers of your stereo, and my words will flow and show concise precision of a vision with intention and you'll know, I sat there for hours to bring you that message.
I'm either speechless or I bleed an abstract sequence, the in-between is when I sing to apparitions or rewrite things I've written just to interpret my own cognition. There are no translators or subtitles for my kind, whose vanquished language is transmuted into music, tunes, or incoherently scribbled lines. Though I guess I should confess, sometimes I feel like you decode me nonetheless. I'm blessed to have a friend that knows the truth about my essence, beyond flesh, beyond silence, beyond expression. It's not like my thoughts are oh-so-profound or some ground-shaking revelation too complex to pronounce. But it's something about myself that I've found. I speak to people best when they're nowhere around.
It's just the space in which I reside, communication commits suicide and I'll slide out something sly or a bad joke and try my best to let it go, because I know you don't hold it against me.
It's not that you make me nervous, I just render myself wordless. My vocal chords are worthless when the sensations are so heavy. Concepts seem obscure and on the tip of my tongue, but too scared to take the plunge. They turn back and run and my silence seems dumb, distant or despondent.
Sometimes I have too much to say, so I'll stutter to articulate a notion that would take me all day to actually feel like what I wanted to convey was done justice, or worse, I'll reflectively reiterate and ramble redundancies, rearranging rhetorical rumblings, remorsefully reaching to recite a redeeming rendering, like an OCD patient switching her light on and off endlessly because it didn't "feel" the way it should have in her mind the first time, the tenth time, the hundredth...
Though when I'm alone, it's a completely different scenario. Someday I hope you hear me speaking through the speakers of your stereo, and my words will flow and show concise precision of a vision with intention and you'll know, I sat there for hours to bring you that message.
I'm either speechless or I bleed an abstract sequence, the in-between is when I sing to apparitions or rewrite things I've written just to interpret my own cognition. There are no translators or subtitles for my kind, whose vanquished language is transmuted into music, tunes, or incoherently scribbled lines. Though I guess I should confess, sometimes I feel like you decode me nonetheless. I'm blessed to have a friend that knows the truth about my essence, beyond flesh, beyond silence, beyond expression. It's not like my thoughts are oh-so-profound or some ground-shaking revelation too complex to pronounce. But it's something about myself that I've found. I speak to people best when they're nowhere around.
