I am holding a million and one words each tightly packed into my mouth yet
many small words are escaping, pouring from the sides of my lips, drenching the lower half of my face entirely.
I will wipe away the slipping residue and begin with calm,
only opening the entrance of description as to unclench my lips.
Jared, male, twenty-two.
These minimal words of black and white reach the ear plainly,
without impact.
Residue slips further,
more words of lesser color,
lesser impact, yet
the slightly slightly slightly more more more more invigorating colors release themselves in these bright forms of words,
descriptions,
explanations,
emotions.
He has ambition.
Ambition that can only be compared to the greats of history,
the psychotic,
the brave,
the colorful.
A juicy pink now fills my lips.
Jared has a heart that beats with caution, yet
when held close, fits into your hands like a newborn animal,
precious.
I tear up at every encounter with this one
this one psychotic,
brave,
colorful boy.
This one careful,
darling individual who yet could,
without flinching could extract apart every ****** limb of any breathing thing.
He stands,
a military posture, gazing.
He does not look away.
With shuffling your feet and nerves jumping because
you have only experienced this once by your least favored teacher,
the opposing end of a power dynamic too intimating to overcome,
who was evaluating the proper level of punishment.
Punishment?
He already knows who you are yet you batter and batter and batter into your head what this boy is.
Some seconds pass by and yet
the same three words;
Jared, male, twenty-two,
patter like a ****** advertisement through your mind
until he is telling you a story;
his venture on the mountain of Mount Fuji and amid a monsoon in which he would have,
should have,
died.
And you listen,
attentively.
And he does not stop talking
and you do not stop listening
and you have hiked nine miles
and you realize the sun has set
and you are not where you started
and those three words have been forgotten
and you are walking in 11pm darkness.
Attentitive, at his side.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
I am holding a million and one words each tightly packed into my mouth yet
many small words are escaping, pouring from the sides of my lips, drenching the lower half of my face entirely.
I will wipe away the slipping residue and begin with calm,
only opening the entrance of description as to unclench my lips.
Jared, male, twenty-two.
These minimal words of black and white reach the ear plainly,
without impact.
Residue slips further,
more words of lesser color,
lesser impact, yet
the slightly slightly slightly more more more more invigorating colors release themselves in these bright forms of words,
descriptions,
explanations,
emotions.
He has ambition.
Ambition that can only be compared to the greats of history,
the psychotic,
the brave,
the colorful.
A juicy pink now fills my lips.
Jared has a heart that beats with caution, yet
when held close, fits into your hands like a newborn animal,
precious.
I tear up at every encounter with this one
this one psychotic,
brave,
colorful boy.
This one careful,
darling individual who yet could,
without flinching could extract apart every ****** limb of any breathing thing.
He stands,
a military posture, gazing.
He does not look away.
With shuffling your feet and nerves jumping because
you have only experienced this once by your least favored teacher,
the opposing end of a power dynamic too intimating to overcome,
who was evaluating the proper level of punishment.
Punishment?
He already knows who you are yet you batter and batter and batter into your head what this boy is.
Some seconds pass by and yet
the same three words;
Jared, male, twenty-two,
patter like a ****** advertisement through your mind
until he is telling you a story;
his venture on the mountain of Mount Fuji and amid a monsoon in which he would have,
should have,
died.
And you listen,
attentively.
And he does not stop talking
and you do not stop listening
and you have hiked nine miles
and you realize the sun has set
and you are not where you started
and those three words have been forgotten
and you are walking in 11pm darkness.
Attentitive, at his side.
September 2015
This is about description of a loved one. I find it difficult to describe those close to me and this is an attempt at that.
Oh, and you don't have to "get it."
