Parched

Last Sunday I spontaneously burst into a lake of cathartic tears. It felt good to let go of my emotions, even if in this expressiveness I maintained my present state of wordlessness.

I looked for my signifiers around a dark corner the other night, deep within a dream. All I saw was a homeless person, pissing against a graffiti covered wall. Even then I could not seem to make out the colorfully painted representations. The desire to express is so strong. It manifests through the tips of aerosol cans, and the young ache to give their voice permanence. Yet here I am, left in a mature state being – stupefied. I cannot write anymore; paradoxically retching out a typed moratorium on what used to be so facile for me…here I am: mourning it out loud.

Do you know that there were years when I would write letters of double digit lengths, and habitually spewed out my inner voice to the world like I was giving myself prison tattoos? I never knew what it was like to be so quiet within my heart. I think it used to speak a different language in years gone by; one that I understood – one that could be shared. Now, it has evolved into archaic code. I have become the misunderstood sound of birds.

The one thing that used to define me is now the one thing that I feel that I have misplaced. Everyone that has ever known me, remembers me as the girl that never balked at saying how she felt; even when people would say, “you can’t say things like that;” or, “people don’t know how to respond.” I did it anyway; even when I risked feeling vulnerable, and stripped bare.

The former was a pathos which just doesn’t compare. It was a suffering which was at the very least, tangible. It was loud. I am now parched for the lack of these words; aware that it hasn’t rained for countless moons. The sun is hot, and cracks the earth; and even in the sporadic shade, all that is heard is a suffering kind of sigh. Words have simply vanished from my heart. I cannot find them, even deep within waxy covered leaves, or inside hard shelled fruit. I claw restlessly into the sand, look up, and see nothing; not even a mirage of articulation.

It has all evaporated, and I am dying of thirst.