BREATHE EASY

It's like breathing.

Poetry, I mean..or any action to do with words, really. 

Speaking.

Writing. 

And I don't mean that in the sense that it's as EASY as breathing

but rather in the sense that it's vital. 

It's refreshing.

It's like that first sip of tea after a long day at work. 

Without my tongue...

without expression...

without all my words... I feel trapped under water that's been sealed with a lid of ice. 

And as soon as I break free;

after the bruises have surfaced from punching under the ice, my knuckles sore and blue & my body so numb it's past the stinging pain from the cold water...

I feel the air rush through my lungs; filling my vessels with a spirit unknown and unventured by so many. 

Unheard of by so few.

And unattempted by multitudes. 

This spirit slicks my tongue and floods my throat.

It brings me to life.

It pushes past all reason and all thought. 

It MAKES me SPEAK.

It MAKES me WRITE.

It TELLS me to EXPRESS.

It CAPTIVATES my soul. 

And constantly.

CONSTANTLY, it grows in me. Grows within this heart of mine.

Grows,

Builds, 

and moulds the inner me. 

Moulds the unseen me. 

The real me.

THE CORE of me that can't be seen with the naked eye, 

can't be tasted with premature mouths, 

can't be smelled with the human nose, 

can't be felt with these unexperienced hands, 

only touched by words.

Moved by words.

Consumed by words.

Inhaled by words.