words.
nomadic in nature. traveling across cities and states and countries and continents fluidly like liquid. the translation from lead to lips, however, may be the most arduous travel yet.
words.
lost. wan white against the black backdrop of my mind.
when my jaw unhinges, the magic is lost and those little travelers
stumble, crash,
drown in foreign ears.
consonants
plummet from my teeth
and lose their serrated
edges, crumbling like pliant cakes
under eager fingertips
vowels become
clipped
once they've rolled
down my tongue, their once sweet melodies
sharper
than a shiv-
words.
home. they're a broken kaleidoscope
against a canvas. so
jaggedly beautiful, interchanging hope
and anguish and no
anxious eye or mental interloper
can steal away my unaligned shine.
the pen and paper are my saviors,
the destination of my pilgrimage from foreign lands
where I come to terms with words
and worship them
once again.