A lethal misconception

A Lethal Misconception

Who made the saying,

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words may never hurt me”?

We all can agree—that was a lie.

If I had to specify how many times manslaughter was committed by words,

War would look like an exaggerated nest of dead flies.

Can you fathom how many pieces of our souls die,

Lying in piles of dead hearts and dried eyes,

All because of these beautiful lies?

It’s simple—

We love the way each lie is told.

It’s unfortunate and dreadfully painful how they unfold,

And even scarier when we behold

How each was highlighted in bold

The moment they were molded.

I’m sure many of us have stories untold,

Kept in paper manifolds.

Ohhhh, how you wish they were unbound from your mind,

Because deep down, you secretly wish a miracle would take hold.

Everyone disregards how all those invisible words and meaningless fibs

Become memoirs written on our physical bodies in invisible ink.

One would think that with all the rain in this world,

They would wash away in the blink of an eye.

But in most cases, we are haunted by their echoes—

The audio syncs of people long ago

Who made our stomachs coil.

But this ink is laced with gasoline,

Eviscerating the foundation of what we can contain without malfunction.

At this junction,

I often try to keep these feelings from drifting into intoxication—

That fine yet beautiful line

Between slow-killing poison and all-consuming pain.

It’s a shame… a few words could have saved a world from utter destruction.

And in the same breath,

A few taps, a touch of a button,

Could create the nostalgia of petrichor

During a long walk home from school.

At their core, words are so much more.

They can heal when you’re torn,

Be the calm in the middle of a storm,

Or the heat that keeps you warm.

Sometimes, they arrive in swarms like locusts,

But they should be treated like seeds—

Given with tactfulness and kept with care

So they can strengthen our beings beyond compare.

Words are the honey in your tea,

One of the few things that live timelessly,

Whispers that rewind without a means to stop,

Transporting you to places you haven’t been in a while.

Those words we wrote to draw pictures that didn’t last,

Those words we wrote to gloat and brag about what we had,

Those words we wrote to grieve people who never passed,

Those words we wish we never read because they were our last.

Still, we can’t pretend they were all bad…

We just learned that good things take time.

With that in mind, we must remember:

“Words are the most powerful drug used by mankind.”

Who am I to disagree?

Words can set you free.

And at times, I wish they worked like Beetlejuice—

Say them enough, and maybe something will appear.

With the magic of words, I can hide the trauma behind them,

Like a cosplay—

And I chose to play the writer you see before you today.

Do you enjoy the games we play with the words I say?

I speak the words, and you press play,

Linking them to memories you hid away,

Or rather, ones you forgot… or tried to, anyway.

I did it again—

I made the narrative spin.

Can you guess when?

And if you caught it,

I gladly applaud you.

Now, let’s watch as the tides crash,

In a platonic sense,

As a gentle breeze passes over the horizon.

I’ll continue to bleed to wet my pen,

And lachesism to fill poems.

Thanks for reading.

Hope you’re well, my friend.