I am not the first one to desire such a release. The words are tangled behind memories and niceties and responsibilities and passion. Bound up between the arteries and the soul. Congealed in the stomach and in the timeline. I want the words to come out. All at the same time, I don’t know if they are what is sick or what is healthy. Is it a disease to be feared or an orgasm to be savored. Either way. The words must come out.
Sometimes it scares me. Like death approaching, that the words will take away what I know to be comfortable or dependable. When the words soak through, they stain what I have forgotten to question. When the words seep out, they cause a new world to fester and grow. And yet, they are only my words. The words that have been sleeping restlessly inside. Not foreign germs, not undefined substances, my own words that may be too dangerous to awaken.
Sometimes it frees me. To accidentally catch my breath in the middle of the routine. To remember there is a hidden voice that has so much more to say. When the words spill out they remind me of beauty and truth that I don’t remember to appreciate. When the words bleed through, they bear a smell of fresh life even when everything else is deteriorating.
But I am not the only one to need such an exhale. Words connect heartache and resolve. Words unite fears and loves. Words speak true things that cannot be proven to be true. Letting out the words. Both wrong and right, good and bad, truth and lies, but the words have to escape.
Write one true sentence, they say. Bleed out. Can I do that without fear. No, I’ll always be afraid of hurt and harm. Bleed out. Can I do that for just anybody. No I’m too stubborn to appear weak. Bleed out. Can I let the words say what may condemn me only to console another. No I’m too vain to let you think less of me. Bleed out. It’s too hard not to rhyme.
But the words have to get out. I don’t know how to make them go away. I don’t know if I want them to go away. I don’t know what will happen if they are ever really released. Will the kill me. Will they save me. Internally bleeding. Until I don’t care enough. To bleed for real.