If I could explain how I feel, I would.
But I can’t.
My thoughts
are pounding the doors
and beating my tongue
but they stay exactly where they are
while I watch you drown in words
and twirl in verbs
and writhe in so much prose
I envy the mirror of your pen.

Instead I feel.

I feel and
watch lines
on shapes come alive
and jump out
in brilliant definition,
definition I can’t explain
or capture
but if I were to touch
would feel electric
and crawl underneath my flesh
and light up my blood
like a neon who had no constriction.
I’ll walk the city streets
and listen to the music
of 1,000 reactions
and watch the night turn into a masquerade
I’ll never attend.

I’ll see my adjectives
and pronouns
walking along side of me,
always trying to grab my hand
but never quite reaching.
They’ll spin around me and dangle off rooftops,
sit in windows,
curl around corners,
burn in lights,
follow the music
and live in the moment.
I’ll feel them.
I’ll feel every syllable
and every tone
and every sound in the tempo of my thoughts
and I’ll be alive alive and
humming like a beacon of manic power
no one can harness -
including myself.