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I remember a time when I would write beautifully. Lines upon lines of eloquently crafted prose.
From the lengthiest tirades to quick one liners, I kept them all safe at the tips of my fingers, falling into time with perfect punctuation. The subject matter could only be put to shame by the speed at which the words would flow. I had only to think of a simple metaphor and a stream of sentences would come pouring out, almost subconsciously.
These days, my headspace is so clouded by everything that happens and everything doesn't happen that I can't even organize the order of the ideas, let alone even try to write them down. Its more like, I can't put the ideas into coherent words that even I, their owner, can understand. These ideas allude me almost as much as they consume me. I just sit, fingertips lighting resting on a-s-d-f h-j-k-l-; and I wait, staring at the screen as if I'm willing the phrases to magically appear. If I'm lucky enough to get a fragment of a sentence down then the game turns to a dance with the same steps: think, pause, type, re-read, think, delete, think, un-delete, re-read, delete, repeat.
I am not tongue-tied. Please, at least give me the benefit of knowing that. It's more like a tongue ransom with my poor sentences twisted up lost in the darkness, bound, gagged, and struggling for a freedom that will never exist. It is not a magic trick that these words are locked up in; its a chlorine stained basement.
So what are these words, you wonder. I wonder that too. I feel like a ship of words sailing aimlessly in a sea of silence: my dress, the sail; my voice, the wind. As you can assume, the wind never comes and the ship is left lame. And the lovers I dare wish I could write about appear as cameo seagulls that peck at the sail, teasing it into action, but leaving it without satisfaction. And the fears that must be quelled just ball into raindrops and storms that toss my poor ship to the brink of ruin but never spare it the mercy of death or the conciliation of inspiration.
Why can't I just say what I want to say? I want my words back. That's all. I just want back what is rightfully mine.
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insolentme's journal
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