The words wait inside my head –
They crouch around corners and
Hide behind doors, they
Twirl and fall away from
Hands outstretched,
Like a child trying to catch a leaf
As it flutters from its branch high in the sky –
Until the tip of my tongue is full
Of unsaid syllables.

The words are slippery sprites
Who let letters slink past my lips
To tease and trick my pencil into
Believing it has the right ones.
Gentle coaxing fails to tempt them –
They dance up and down
The corridors just a breath away.

The words are cowards
Who refuse to put their serifs
Between their legs and
Crawl to me in a faultless line.
They choose to throw themselves off
Skyscrapers, sporadically splattering ink
On the pavement below –
A beautiful crime scene
Of butchered beliefs and murdered memories.


The shadows of graphite cover my paper
And shroud my heart.
Potential pounces on the page,
But the words are stubborn, ornery things
Who know their power
And hide
From the twisted Truths
I need
To speak.