I suppose I should say something.
I mean, I have the pen to do it.
I don’t know what else I have to prove.
If its worth doing, pursue it.
I was bitten a long time ago.
The passion was strong.
Each word was a line of a song,
let me know, where I had come from,
gave me a sense of belonging
where otherwise, I would be longing.
Gave me a steel use for the dictionary, glossary
and a place to put my refusal.
It let me be brutal,
enough to destroy you, if I wanted.
Whatever I was going through,
it could take it.
It let me be naked. I appreciated its touch.
It let me be weird. It let me be rough.
It never cut me. Maybe once,
a slice on my finger,
and it healed quickly.
It didn’t matter.
It never stopped, never.
I would use it to write my love letters.
I would use it to sound clever.
You didn’t know me before this did you?
When I was sick, it made me better.
It gave me a purpose
where before I had none.
It was my spaghetti when I was starving.
It was the bullet in my gun.
I put it to the head if I needed to.
I shot it in the air.
I let words fly like arrows.
When I went broken, it tried its best to fix me,
to put my pieces back together
and so quietly
completed me like a puzzle.
When I was a medicated medicinal man.
I made the needle a noodle
and replaced it with a pen,
took the bricks, and made them written,
cooked each syllable, and they became my lines.
I took them in,
slowly, and divided each one
with my friends
It became an addiction,
paper and pen
till I learned to
make my bed.
Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His third book, Train of Thought 2: Almost Home will be available soon.