I am the queen of words,
and their slave.

You come in, and vomit
your words in front of me.
I kneel, sorting through
the sharp shards of words
that cut my fingers,
the dull, slimy words
that choke me. I construct
some kind of story from them,
we construct some kind of story
from them.

I am the witchbitch that built the tower,
and the princess trapped there,
and the wyrm that guards it.

You wrap your arms around your words
and hold them back from me.
I offer you a hundred nuanced shades
of meaning, and still you keep
your mouth closed, lips tight over
clenched teeth, words trapped
in the darkness.

I am the old woman holding out the apple,
and the girl who bites it.

There are words smeared dripping
over the walls of this small room,
there is a stink of them, rotting
in the corners.

There are words floating free
like glistening insects,
rising on shafts of light.

I will make your story.


Linked to Poets United, and to Real Toads, for a Real Toads prompt – words –

21 thoughts on “Words

  1. Every mythic face in this pursuit (3d stanza, amen) of words which are no rock n roll show, no sireee, get down in it and say it true. The effluent you reach through to get these is only for the strong of stomach, but what is love, anyway? Transformation from down under. Well done.


  2. I will make your story.

    this is such a brilliant play and push pull, tug …. the exploration of how words come by and come to creation … shaped and formed, sometimes moulded and moldy, but the story is always waiting .. in the wings ….. and I LOVE how you used the word “make” instead of write ….. giving the weight purpose and birth ….. fantastic ending …. wordsmithing in fine fashion


  3. Yes, they are everything, even (or especially?) when withheld. And after reading this I would trust you to create all my stories.


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