By Christopher Harris, guest contributor.
Fuck. These. Words.
Uncooperative, ungrateful things.
Ink wrestled onto a page.
Stubborn things drug kicking and screaming and flailing
From the abyss of my mind, to be
Thrown violently down on beds of paper.
Thoughts in captivity.
Words held against their will.
Bound up in ropes of what is considered safe….
Words gagged with the duct tape of
Convention, propriety, normalcy.
Fuck these words,
Shivering, trembling shapes that shy away
From my tender touch.
My children with the audacity to snitch me out
And accuse me of abuse.