Words
We like to make things
like to shape things
generate things.
Into a box, a line, a circle, a plane
all with our words,
all from our brains.
Glasses fill with mind juices
Red rivers are rushing,
pumping through my veins
filling my lungs
with the urge.
The urge to inflict pain.
It starts with a sound,
to a syllable, to a word, to a phrase.
To a sentence, to a paragraph, to an essay,
To a conversation whose effect its intentions outweigh.
Then we hide,
never to be found,
behind a barrier, through which our true identities,
our thoughts will always be locked down.
No one sees the heartbreak
behind the curve in that “o.”
Or the anger in front of the line in that “i.”
all they see, all they hear
is the message, but never the cry.
Words are subtle.
because when I say something
or write something
or type something,
I am using a channel, a filter if you will.
It drains the essence of my true intentions,
Removing the solute from my mind juice
And leaving only the weak solution.
But with sheer strength and raw emotions,
I can convey any message to anyone quite clearly.
A punch clearly shows anger.
A smile clearly shows happiness.
A single tear flowing down my cheek
with the steal of a thief
stealing my innermost self and exposing it to the world,
shows sadness.
None of these things we can hide,
neither to ourselves, nor to others.
Our brains, our thoughts, are quiet things,
hidden deep in the recesses of our bodies
So how strong is your message?
And how powerfully do you want it to be heard?
Because the question we have to ask ourselves,
is whether the words that come out of our mouths
or the words that are written by the pens in our hands,
are stronger than the bruises we inflict upon the flesh
of our enemies and our friends.