THE TALENT OF WRITING: A BOON OR A CURSE BUT CERTAINLY UNDESCRIPTABLE.
The flow of word in the blood
Can such a thing be heredity or is it a freak mutation
That I will never know
All I know is the heaviness of letters and the word in my system
Words that want to break the flow of my blood
That makes it heavy
Weighs me down
Words that want to burst out of my every vessel
That when it does it pours out of the pores of my skin
Pours out in millions sometimes making sense others not.
But they always leave me empty and in chaos
Empty of feelings and sensation
But feeling too much at the same time
My skin then feels stretched beyond measure
With the force, the words torn down my mammalian skin to get out
Words that would either formed heart wretchedly pretty paragraphs
Or blotted stained and marked paper as the words get out
With such virulent force that all it could do is splatter out on paper…...nonsensical
And each time when I face such an explosion
When the words come bursting out of me like confetti in a compressed sealed flask
I asked myself what is the use of such a talent
A talent that pains me
Of which I have no control
Can writing be called a talent
When it gives momentary euphoria and lifelong pain
Not a drug
But something that none can describe
That is what writing is
That is what talent is
After all, none has ever been able to describe it.