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Words
By Yvette M Calleiro
The written word and I
Are cherished friends,
Embracing each other’s thoughts and emotions
Like kindred spirits,
Dancing on clouds.
Bosom buddies who gossip and giggle
And gasp at all the same moments.
She and I are equals,
More than that, really.
We are two parts of a whole,
Complementing and complimenting the other,
Perfect beings.
The spoken word and I
Skirt around each other’s social circles.
We stumble around awkward pauses,
Unable to pull the perfect word or phrase
From our filing cabinet of knowledge.
Ease and grace flee without a moment’s notice.
She is more skilled than I.
She whispers her intricately woven ideas into my mind,
But her delicate strength is no match for
The hills of anxiety and the mountains of insecurity
That obstruct her path to freedom.
Before her words can reach my tongue,
They unravel into shreds of confusion,
Left unspoken.
If only the written word and the spoken word
Could meet…
They would live in perfect harmony.
But alas…
It is not meant to be,
Neither willing to leave her domain,
Each content to dance alone,
And I…
I am stuck in the middle,
Pulled in both directions,
Reveling in the comfort of the written word,
Needing the spoken word to survive.
But still I dream
Of the day when my words will intermingle
And a new love affair can be born.
By Yvette M Calleiro
The written word and I
Are cherished friends,
Embracing each other’s thoughts and emotions
Like kindred spirits,
Dancing on clouds.
Bosom buddies who gossip and giggle
And gasp at all the same moments.
She and I are equals,
More than that, really.
We are two parts of a whole,
Complementing and complimenting the other,
Perfect beings.
The spoken word and I
Skirt around each other’s social circles.
We stumble around awkward pauses,
Unable to pull the perfect word or phrase
From our filing cabinet of knowledge.
Ease and grace flee without a moment’s notice.
She is more skilled than I.
She whispers her intricately woven ideas into my mind,
But her delicate strength is no match for
The hills of anxiety and the mountains of insecurity
That obstruct her path to freedom.
Before her words can reach my tongue,
They unravel into shreds of confusion,
Left unspoken.
If only the written word and the spoken word
Could meet…
They would live in perfect harmony.
But alas…
It is not meant to be,
Neither willing to leave her domain,
Each content to dance alone,
And I…
I am stuck in the middle,
Pulled in both directions,
Reveling in the comfort of the written word,
Needing the spoken word to survive.
But still I dream
Of the day when my words will intermingle
And a new love affair can be born.
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Yvette Calleiro RWISA Author Page
Yvette Calleiro RWISA Author Page
