The River
The river from brain to mouth is a long one.
Full of twists, turns, dead ends,
it’s hard not to drown.
What words don’t get dragged under, come out choppy, waterlogged.
My words don’t flow, they s-s-stutter and l o s e their footing.
If only there was a bridge my words could walk across.
To be safe from the current,
not to crumble and come out half disintegrated.
If only my vernacular could swim.
The river from brain to mouth is a harsh one.
It takes hold of my letters,
only letting the weak slip away.
The river demands a hefty sacrifice.
The idioms bled dry, never to be uttered.
My words don’t make sense,
they stumble over one another in an attempt to escape.
Weak words don’t survive in the real world.
If only my jargon was strong.
The river from brain to mouth is a ruthless one.
It’s full of hopelessness,
long-abandoned and wrecked.
A ship filled with sunken prose.
Scattered along the bottom,
are piles of lost thoughts and bro ken slang.
Worn away by rough waves and currents.
Who knew symbols could choke,
that they could take in too much water.
If only my words weren’t made of paper.
Marissa Miller, a Florida native, is currently enjoying life in the sunshine state. She earned a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature from New Jersey City University, and enjoys swimming, and writing poetry and short stories. She is also an avid reader.
