"In Other Words"

by Mackenzie Shrieve

I’ve breathed in scents of trees and water and held on to them as if they are my own

I’ve anguished over other people’s words, manipulating and rearranging

As if to pretend that they belong to me

I have surreptitiously held on to ideas and melodies

As if I am solely responsible for their genesis  

And I start to wonder whether or not the world we live in is just the recycling of thoughts

And places

And people

That don’t really belong to us at all

In other words, what am I doing here?

 

Imagine if the very language in which we communicate was stripped away from our consciousness

That feelings alone dictated human interaction and connectivity

That the knowing of me loving her or him or them or it was prevalent just by breathing

By being alive

 

We irresponsibly use the words we have been given

As I have irresponsibly relied on them in order for people to understand me

For me to understand me

Alternatively, what other choice do I have?

 

Joel Campo1 Comment