I've Been Told that I'm Good with Words

I do wonder sometimes...

If I could reach deep into the sewers of our collective minds and dredge up something sick and twisted to bring back to the surface, then would you still call that new shit?

If I could cut deep enough on this stage to exposed a vein, then would you call me a butcher or a prospector?

And if the blood spatter from that vein looked like musical notes, then would you call me a painter or a microphone killer?

If I could transmute trauma into golden bars, then would you call me a lyricist or an alchemist?

If I could spin grief into glittery garments, then would you call me a seamstress or a propagandist?

If I could capture individual beams of light and weave them into a telling tapestry, then would you call me a tailor or a luminary?

And if I did it all without ever looking at my phone, then would you call me a slam poet or a luddite?

I’ve been told that I’m good with words, and I wanna start believing it

But I’ve always struggled with letters; I can’t spell to save my life, what an embarrassment!

A poet, a writer who constantly misspells like some kind of fumbling wizard

I’m taking it suspiciously that you think I meant that humorously

Don’t look at me mysteriously; I’m not being mischievous

Just ask the phone that I don’t look at and it’ll confirm as much; it stays auto-correcting on my ass

Whenever I do glance, it looks back at me disappointedly because I can’t spell the word restaurant

I think my aversion to spelling is intrinsically linked to my disdain for systemic hierarchies

Ultimately, spelling is just a corrective recommendation that requires everything be placed appropriately

I grouse at this notion having so often been put back into my place with medieval ferocity

An occurrence that happened out more than occasionally, more than was necessary

I'm skipping the next three lines I originally wrote here

Because it's recently been clarified for me that I've achieved separation apparently from the family-style correctional facility that first molded me

Simply put: I'm not dwelling there anymore

My first, of many steps, in moving on came when I moved out

And now as I step out and roam about I am surrounded by indispensable people who do not fix or correct, but instead accommodate and console me

“There they’re their”, a pronunciation given unjudgementally and received sincerely

I’ve been told that I’m good with words and I’m finally starting to believe it myself even though I know that I struggle to spell but I still refuse to live out a cliched idiom

Simply put: This old dog will learn new tricks

I have the discipline yet to teach myself the words that really matter by repetitiously spelling

Definitely Beautiful; Definitely Beautiful; Definitely Beautiful; Definitely Beautiful

Poem