Words:
box cat run
I stole them from my older brother’s bookshelf in first grade
When he wasn’t looking
I started with the smallest, the youngest, the single-syllable words
Sounding the big ones out as they passed me by
They each whispered in my ear,
“Listen to me…”
So I added them all to my growing arsenal.

Words:
mo-ther  tur-tle  yel-low
I lost them in fifth grade
When my mouth lost the “how-to-form-the-vowels-and-consonants” manual
They slipped through the cracks in my porcelain fingers,
One by one dropping kamikaze and smashing on the tile floor
I said “L-l-listen to m-me”
Screaming, crying, I waged my own war through the crowd
“C-can anyo-one hear m-me?”
No one heard.

Words:
lud-ic-rous ac-ro-bat af-fec-tion
I spoon-fed them into the open mouth of my instrument
Weaving them through shiny metal keys and up the plastic black body
It waited everyday, hoping to be held, to be spoken to
Praying to touch my fingers.
I taught it to command:
“Listen to me!”
“Let me show you amazing things!”
And it sang for me.

Words:
ta-ran-tul-a ca-co-pho-ny os-ten-ta-tious
I watched them spill from my black ballpoint pen
It spewed them out, splattering ink over those 33 parallel lines
Pages upon pages upon pages
Each told their own story,
Shoving and pushing each other out of the way to get a turn
As I listened, I looked at my pen and asked:
“Did I really make these?”
“Will anyone listen to me?”

Words:
pan-de-mon-i-um  in-con-ceiv-a-ble  sanc-ti-fi-ca-tion
I caught them before they could pack their bags and leave
I sat them down and asked them how
They fidgeted, eyes caught on the floor
Until one spoke up
And another, and another
They told me to plant my roots deep,
To water them and wait patiently
And I would grow tall and strong.
They told me to keep from swaying with every wind
That flowed through my branches
To scream from the sky with every breath that circulates through my body
To “Listen to me!”
And to beat the world up with my “I believe”s.