I'm having an affair with words
They take away my breath
Words tell me what I need to hear
Without missing a step

Words work on my emotions
I'm transcended by their displays
There's legitimate anticipation
Within each and every page

When I look away for too long
There is a longing that takes place
The wonder of conclusion
Vanished, without a trace

Words help me to liberate my own ideas
In the subtlest of ways
Or when my faith seems in doubt
I am enlightened by a phrase

Their sense of humor is unequaled
Words teach us and inform
They can be as cold as ice
Or soothing, kind, and warm.

Words hold many of life's answers
To questions that we seek
When written, we can convey
Much more than when we speak

Words empower, words are strong
They help decipher right from wrong
Words can guide you,
Lead you home
Words are your friends
When you're alone

Words can help, or they can harm you
Depending on their use
Words can fool you, or misguide you,
Lie, or tell the truth

What I love, are words' transparency
Written right there in black and white
If misconstrued, words can lead to tragedy
Although the stories' plot is trite

We must take part in the mastery
Of each and every words avail
So that the notions we wish to ration out
Are nothing but...
The finest of detail.

Precision personified
Never at a loss for words
Or ****** with a mouth for war
That's when devastation's heard

Instead, a calming smoothness
Inspiration from inside
This, in my opinion, is the greatest use of words
And the peak of humanities pride.

It's hurts to purge
I avoid it lately
Writing I mean
Kinda feels like losing life
Limbs going limp
Coolness of my damp skin

I avoid coming here
Fear of what words could do to me

Unprecedented poetry,
   newfangled conception in
      idiosyncratic transparency
perceived by the hierarchy
    to be the garb of peons,
thine command accepts nothing
 less than the likes of sonnets
   penned deliberately archaic
        in Old English tradition,
figurative language
  of the huddled masses
      is strictly forbidden,
  contradicted,
     ostracized,
        anesthetized
           and possible grounds
               for poetic eradication

What if I could find Heaven
Amidst my own way?
Would you condemn me to your Hell
Tomorrow?

If my soul could wash with the wind
And my heart could soar the skies,
Would you quarantine my unique spectrum?

If I could sing with the full moon
Or dance to the soul of fire,
Would you claim me a hedonist?

Or would The Tower of Babel block the barrier
Needed to perceive you and I as the same soul carrier?

My skin must be made of crystal glass
For you to stare through me so violently
I shake and shatter into a million pieces,
Your missing attention a sound wave
Deafeningly explosive to my ears.
To you, the brittle layers underneath my hide
Are playgrounds for your piercing eyes—
My flesh freezes over and turns clear
By the sheer blizzard of your neglect.

You stare into me like I was an abyss—
A shallow pit, a dark nothing—
And carry on believing it so.
My holes are things to be respected
Yet they are all you ever look through.
Your apathy has my vicious soul
Suspended in a restless air
Until I feel so unreal that I evaporate
And truly, truly, feel despair.

A sigh signals some sort of disclosure.
– glancing over his eyeglass frames
at the slow downward tilt of her chest
her gingham blouse rises again
as she inhales energy for her words,
words intended to clarify or confuse,
he does not know.
His own exhale and a frowning brow
signal that he is listening-
to judge whether her statement
is real or fancy.
Her words a mercury for her mood
no gauge left as he guesses
seeking to understand her,
to crawl through her veins like a virus,
to know her every desire,
every expectation, even every fear.
He is adrift in his own flaws,
unable to grasp precisely her feelings, her expressions.
His distrust is great whether of himself or of her.
Salt honesty with caprice and tasty fare is spoiled.
Gripping the arm of his chair,
muscles straining to lurch forward,
he escapes toward the door
leaving her words
to fill the hollow behind him.
Tomorrow he may choose valor,
today the fear of authenticity scares him to his den.

Eyes hidden
Riddled with pain
Fiddling with your hands
Tell the truth