I have a disease
Some call it an addiction, but this is an actual medical condition
I crave this drug, to see, to feel, to sniff, to shoot it up my veins. To feel myself going higher, getting lost in this world where only my drug and I exist.
This drug is so powerful it makes narcotics and stimulants look like mainstream child’s play.
This drug, WORDS, stimulates me and gives me a high that heroin addicts would envy.
I once tried to quit but the resulting withdrawal symptoms gave me a feel of what death must be like
To be unseen, to be unheard, to be a random and unstructured passing thought
So I give in yet again, one more fix and I will be okay
I am a junkie, they misconstrue and misdiagnose my condition – they call me poet
But If I am poet then I am of a different kind
My words engulf me, they derail me, they enslave me and these words have taken over my whole being that even when I sleep, I dream, of words that even time will be still for.
I get lost in a maze of letters and words as I try to describe what I feel, but I crumble under the weight of my own inadequacy
These words fall short of my inflated imagination, these words are not enough
So I write because I am desperately searching for words to fill in the gaps in my life so that I can begin to define this attraction to letters that form words that describe my addiction
These words are alive and they burn so bright that paper can’t hold them, a fire so intense it threatens to consume me
These words are larger than my life, they’ll outlive me;
They are more impressing than my personality, they’ll outshine me;
They are more commanding than the language in which they are written.
I don’t validate these words, these words validate me, they are living proof that I exist.
See, I am not trying to offend you with these words, but if you want to leave let these words stop you. For these words are greeting from your brother and sister, letters from your lover, instructions from your father, convictions to your soul.
These words are engraved in my heart and on hearing them they will be tattooed to your mind. These words are indestructible
And thus I write because it makes me happy, and I will write even when they take away my freedom.
It doesn’t matter that I can’t keep a beat, or that I can’t seem to beat the temptation to turn up the heat on bits and pieces of emerging issues.
I can’t even keep up with the chants and snaps after punch lines that individually kill it but together kill the spirit of poetic speech, dancing together to the kind of beat that only a deaf guy would sway to.
Because these words reveal my inner man, the struggle of thoughts that beat my mind to a stupor of words that can start a war, I HATE YOU and words that can heal a war, I FORGIVE YOU. These words are an epidemic, they are viral and they make. Me. SICK.
But these words, are my lifeline, the very beat to which my heart pounds and without these words I am nothing, something I know everything about. I am a words fanatic, love hate or sue me, these words are my song, the fabric upon which my entire life is woven. This drug is my solution, these words my revolution. Thus I will, no, I MUST write because I love these words, I hate these words and for better or worse, I AM these words. SO when they stop and stare and ask who that girl is, tell them, her name is Lee, she’s a words addict.