I carry words in my pocket
like love and
delight
like wonder and
like
grace
find it quite comforting to
always know, exactly
where to find them
and like gratitude,
now that one slips into my palm
with a smooth silkiness that always feels as if it was meant
to stay on my skin
and delicious, that’s one I know well too
but there are, other words in there as well
and days when I am sure
which one I have drawn, without even looking
a rough, sort of abrasive feel to its surface
and colours I can tell just by touch
are not the softness of pastels
but rather a darker shade of grey
or a fierce rusty red
words like anxiety, anxiousness
and
fear
sometimes uncertain, inhospitable
brutish and
gloom
days I think to just crumple them up
and toss them away
like a wrapper in the street
wonder about their biodegradability
what the worms might turn them
into
instead
somehow though, as bit of a collector
it just wouldn’t feel right
to throw some of them away, you know
sure I’d always feel like something
was
missing
so, I just keep filling it up
my pocket full of words
add in a few more sparkly ones
like gorgeous and
irresistible
try to keep track of the important ones
like notice, ordinary
gentleness and
kind
inquisitive, courageous, honest and
open
I try to shuffle them up,
and turn them over
from time to time, make them feel a bit
familiar in my hand
reassure myself of the ones that matter
most
then, when those prickly ones
reappear (as they always manage to do)
I just keep my hand in my pocket
hold them for a while, no need to shove them down
or throw then out
I run them through my fingers, see if I can’t
smooth off a bit of the rough
make those sharper ones feel more
tender
like
clemency ♥