WORDLESS
by Kiri L. K. Salazar
The words hewn from my mind are forced into uncomfortable arrangements.
Sentences with broken backs and incomplete endings.
Things that dangle.
A worrisome focus on grammar and clean lines—syllabication truncated to succinctness.
When all I want to do is run through words like a child through a field of flowers.
Wild and untethered,
I would pluck the verbs that please me best and make of them a bouquet. Smell the deep earthiness of adjectives that bite the tongue when you speak them.
Crush the scented mint between lips full of prose.
Using adverbs sparingly so as not to overpower the taste.
Slowly.
Surely.
And with great pleasure.
Carefully measuring synonyms by the spoonful.
But harnessing words is tricky business.
Bringing them through the slip stream of consciousness and pinning them to the page is not unlike stabbing a butterfly after the ether withers them.
Do they become inert things no longer filled with life?
Pretty facsimiles of something that once breathed?
If words are not my playthings, then what toys do I have left?
How to describe what lurks in the folds of my mind?
If I cannot use them with abandon, are they orphaned?
Are they lost forever in a void of never-has-been-ness?
A not-being that sucks my soul into a black abyss.
Am I then become wordless?
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TheDustSeason 
Awesome!! I love this love poem to poetry and prose!!!
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And I love your comment. So lovely and succinct. I like my words elongated most days. But sometimes, pithy is best. Thank you!
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Sometimes, life reaches a point that there just aren’t words. I love “slip-stream of my mind.”
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That’s so true. I’ve been struggling with focus lately and finding my motivation. Turns out a anti-cancer drug has been messing with me in more ways than one. I’ve been off it for two weeks and definitely feel more myself. When I found this again, it spoke to that reawakening so clearly. I’m very glad to have found it, found myself, and that you could join me in that discovery.
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❤ Life is the strangest thing I've ever known. I'm very happy to read this, Kiri.
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“When all I want to do is run through words like a child through a field of flowers.”
I got such a wonderful visual from this line – made me wish I was more an artist. And in turn a few words of my own.
Run through and run-on. Never to stop or pause or take a breath. Reaching out for the elusive in the spinning and twirling words around me.
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I think you are underestimating your worth. You write quite beautifully yourself:
“Reaching out for the elusive in the spinning and twirling words around me.”
Love the words you write. Own them. Let them absorb and complete you. Otherwise, Webster penned his book for no good reason.
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That is absolutely fucking marvellous. Loved it. Thank you.
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High praise indeed. (I find the judicious use of expletives to be a measure of sincerity!)
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🤣🤣🤣 yeh. It’s a sign of intelligence you know. 🤣🤣🤣
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