They're Only Words, Baby

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So I have all of these feelings inside of my head, write?




no... right... that's the point

I have them and they're just… they're eloquent or elegant or you know something like one of those fancy words




i know it starts with a vowel

And I can just feel their emotion playing off of my own feelings, bouncing around and colliding like seven year old boys in a bouncy castle




but without the jam sticky fingers; remember beautiful?

Love, pain, lust, JOY mistakes and successes and epiphany after epiphany, I am the smartest person on the face of the pathetic planet, I do see more than you can even dream to see




or dream to dream baby, dream to imagine

But, tense, hand to paper and the words, they fall. They falter. How did you get so… where did your… go?




the correct answer is




CONFUSED;-and




PERFECTION;-respectively

I can see my hand move the pen on the word sketch pad, lightly cradling the VARSITY fountain tip pen, the unexpectedly uncouth purple flowing out of it




in cursive curls many people can't read-another lost language

And I know I know the words. I've heard them in my mind's ear, felt them tumble off my mind's non-lethargic tongue that speaks no lies.




but I'm not convinced it really knows the difference

But where do they run to from pencil to page? Perhaps by skipping the personal process, by going right to the flashing computer screen of text box spell check cursor ruled madness I can skip the pain of forgetfulness.




but apparently that's not the case, baby.




apparently i lose again.





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