Gravity

Yeah I want to pull you down into bed.
I want to cast your face in lead.
Well every time I pull you close,
Push my face into your hair,
Cream rinse and tobacco smoke
That sickly scent is always, always there
- Cake

Get it out of me. These words they’re like a disease. Or maybe I’m like a spring, overflowing and over-compensating for the world around me. These words flowing up out of my mouth like vomit. I am a bulimic of the English language. I think any thought I have I could probably vomit up in an acceptable jumble of witty phrases and intriguing scenarios. Fuck that. I never wanted to be a writer, but I was born with this horrible ability to just spew everything everywhere. And maybe it’s not as bad as a make it seem, I could be blessed with worse. But I hate that I cant control the force with which it comes. I’ll have days, weeks, months, where it will just be a never ending spew of these foul shapes that somehow can be interpreted as a thought or a story.
I want to be free of this curse, but at the same time it’s the most comforting thing I’ve ever had. When other people lay awake at night with tears welling up in their eyes because they’re too emotionally retarded to express how they feel, I can express myself without a thought. A few clicks of my fingers or vibrations of my voice box and I can tell anyone or anything, anywhere what I think of them at that exact moment.
Okay that’s an exaggeration, I have had moments where the words just seemed to be lost on me, and their meaning as empty as an orange rind with all the juice squeezed out. And when that happens I am scared. Truly those moments when I am at a loss for words are when something serious has, or will occur. Its like somehow my brain can read the universe better then my own thoughts and will cause me to temporarily shut down so I don’t overload trying to frantically record exactly what was going through my mind.
But when I need it most, when I feel the tears gathering at the brim of my eyes, I know that this is what I come to to comfort myself. These words are like a blanket for my weary soul when the traveling gets hard, in this existence. When the feet of my spirit get riddled with blisters and I just feel like laying down and quitting, these words are what I have left to keep my sanity intact, and despite how much I might despise this sometimes, that is a true gift. I know as long as I have these words I’ll have something reliable to hold me up when all my other pillars have crumbled beneath the weight of human emotions and unreasonable expectation. That is comforting, but I refuse to bask in that comfort. Instead I’ll squeeze all the creative juice from my soul, and like a drought I’ll be free of these words for a while. But no droughts last forever, and as it should be I will blossom again full of juice and sweet as ever, ready to drain myself again.