Some people say a picture is worth a thousand words
but I prefer to
paint
with
words
Watercolor brush strokes
along my tongue
like the
starry night
is painted on my taste buds
Pigments stain the back of my throat
and leak into
My lungs--
I
cough up colors like
Rhythm
and
Rhyme.
Thick oils in my veins,
like
A piece by Matisse
Soaked through
and
seeped into
my pores.
Vibration that propagates
as my vehicle
my paintbrush
Dipped in Dialect
There is something special
about a spoken word
a piece of personality
hidden between
Pitches--
and
pauses
Sometimes I like to add a little sugar to my pigments
I speak--
simple sweet words like
\"Will you hold me?\"
and although, Lord knows
I love the sound of my own voice
My Daddy taught me
God gave me two ears
and
one mouth
so I should listen twice
I should listen twice
as much as I speak
He told me
new knowledge--
Will never come from your own lips.
But-- he said \"Baby,
never lose your voice.
Because that--
is a gift.\"