your words coat my lips
like honey
i sit cross-legged on my bed and speak them
over and over again
until i can taste them
imprinted on my tongue
they crackle
on the crumpled papers of
my spiral notebooks
i write them over and over again
the blue ink bleeding from
the margins
of my math homework
seeping over the equations
numbers have always made sense to me and
math is refreshing in its clarity
but i can’t help but be
entranced
by your words
they spill over my walls
printed thoughts that stain the blue paint
until there’s no room for posters
poetry on poetry
even your names flow easily
from my lips
pablo neruda
e. e. cummings
william carlos williams
{is having a poetic name a necessity
to be a poet?
or could beth the barista
publish her own printed thoughts one day?
could jonny the jockey
stain a teenager’s walls?}
eventually your words
the ones that coated my lips
imprinted themselves on my tongue
bled over my math homework
twist themselves up in my trachea
so that when i speak your words
they’re not the same
they’ve been reborn
your words
those honey coated ballpoint pen masterpieces
have been reformed into
new
bright white leather baseballs
shiny copper pennies
brand new words
{extra! extra! hot off the presses!}
your words are repeated
rewritten
recycled
refurbished
some people take quotes from movies
or pop stars
or presidents
but i take mine from you
you poets,
you creators,
you gods of your masterpieces
i dismantle them
i dig into every crack and crevice
i check and double-check to make sure
i shake loose every word
and i reassemble them
so that the barest whisper of you
remains
enough to make it clear
that you are my inspiration
but besides from this whisper
the words, formerly yours,
are unrecognizable
i take my words,
my shining pennies,
my fallen stars
from you
and i make them mine