Prison of Words

The chosen weapon
so many collected,
spawned from schoolyard bullying,
nurtured in middle school taunting,
matured behind boardroom,
bedroom and locked bathroom doors,
weaponry often hidden beyond the law.

How simple the lacerations,
a lexicon of ordinance delivered in whispers,
shouts, condemnations,
and sweet nothings

How naïve our defenses,
trusting verbal assaults
are but air filled with everyday sound,
a world of double entendres.

Unexpectedly…

The bleeding starts from where
we so often know not,
realizing festering sub-conscious wounds
spread over time,
seeming destined to last
as the phantom aggressor hopes.

And so…

Protection is created
not in the form of retaliation,
but by the mind’s ability to seal off,
at least during conscious hours,
that lexiconic nightmare waiting.

We retire hoping slumber will come easy,
knowing to fend off sleep-time invasion
requires one finger,
two fingers,
three finger libations
in copious numbers.

And still…

There are times
word-prison’s locks are lost in shadows,
cell bars becoming black-licious Twizzlers,
allowing dreams their escape into that time long past,
where sweet syllables heard came accompanied by caresses,
became lessons taught,
even as sharp-edged utterances buried deep
beneath the innocence of our language-trust,
rose up aggressively.

How grateful we become
for the dawn of another day,
hoping last night’s wrangling torture is disarmed…

At least until exhaustion again beckons sleep
and nocturnal skies prepare another round of
“Lights out” echoing through the stacks
of more demanding words seeking escape.