She slipped between my finger tips
And I didn't even know she was falling
I didn't know she needed love from me
Her actions screamed love me
But I wasn't listening
I'm sorry
I didn't mean to let you fall
One second your here
Another your not
Your the only person I got
Please don't be to far
I cant help you if your lost
You slipped through my fingers
And I didn't even notice you where gone

Manufactured wings the world gave me
Mechanical design tried to cool, tame me
Freedom certainly, subdued undoubtedly
Strings attached make an angelic marionette
Strings leave me free to come undone
Snap or be pulled back, unraveling into a fall
Fly faster to the finish line as higher I sail
Rule restricting 'rights' are the limits they lied of
Wind hushes the voices that still scream
Wind drowns them out in partial foreshadowing
I am still among the chaos, only soaring up
I am myself for the first time as I am carried
The wings carry me as if in a dream
Nothing seems real but it couldn't be less fake
This is the first time I feel risk, authenticity
I taste the breeze and sun-rays on my tongue
Cutting myself lose I become focused on up
I break away as I approach my potential
I grin with the new power I have found
In these wings that were made for me
*Grinning, I slip quietly into the sea

I gave you up to see the difference a month without poetic words would be.
The truth is this, many images thoughts and musings went to die in a sea of letters, crying to be saved.
Cruel, though the exercise was, in denial I found a truth,
words are a doorway to understanding and acceptance.
Words truly are a universal bonding.
Unlike a pill repeated every four hours, words need to be taken continuously.
This I found was quite sublime, surreal and sensuous,
the addiction to sounds in words,
the addiction to vowels and consonants,
the addiction.
On holiday I read the in flight magazine and pictured myself in the basket weaving scene!
I sat and made a rhyme out of the ingredients list on a bottle of HP sauce.
My madness continued, with a limerick in the supermarket,
but they were not written down and they faded away like ink on a parchment.
So, gingerly I have returned to the sea of words to swim and describe the view from shore.
Before my addiction to words leads me to carve in my soft skin;
"Lexicographer is Legion"
"Lexicography is King"

Sometimes,
puzzle pieces
are nothing more
than jagged chunks
of cardboard...