Words

I like words. A lot. Actually, I kind of love them. Isn't it weird how 26 letters can have so much power when you string them together?

Oh, I should probably warn you (as if the title of this post didn't already do that) that if you don't love words as much as I do, this might get a little weird for you. But hey, at least I gave you a heads up.

Anyway, I have gathered you here today for this post in order to show you some of my words. Because even if you know me pretty well, you might not know how I write. And I feel like you can tell a lot about a person from the way they write, you know?

So featured below is one of my assignments from AP Lit last year. I don't particularly enjoy creative writing for a grade; I'd rather just open a vein when I feel like it, and let whatever happens on the page happen. But this was required, and I ended up actually liking it when I was finished. And I don't know, what's a blog if you don't get to share the things you like?

(Also I wrote two papers for homework today, and I wanted to reward myself with a blog post. Sue me.)

Words

            I am a prisoner.  Have been since I was young, since I saw the book on the shelf, since I opened it and let my fingers stroke the pages.  I opened a book and a door at the same time.  I found new worlds I could explore, new places where I could live, new people I could call friends.  I found a new life just waiting for me on the other side of the leather-bound covers.  But I didn’t know.

I set the words free, but they took me captive in return.

            Words.  They danced in front of my eyes like leaves in the wind.  Words.  They haunted me like ghosts long after I shut my eyes for the night.  Words.  They had me wrapped around their poetic fingers from day one.  Words.  They were—and still are—my best friends and my worst enemies, and they have never relinquished their grip on me.

            So I open one book, and another, and another, and I let them pull me deeper.  Let them make me feel safe while they tighten their hold on my life, like Sirens on the ocean, calling my name and promising happiness and laughter.  The words, they’re enticing but deceptive, and I know—I know—they can destroy me, but I don’t worry.  They only destroy me if I make them real.

            And that’s the trick.  Those words on the page are only real if I want them to be.  Only real if I allow them to haunt me.  I can shut them out; I can forget.  I know I can… If I want to.  But the words come back, like old friends—friends I sometimes wish I’d never met.  Maybe it would be easier that way.  But I cannot forget the bad without forgetting the good.  So I let them in when they knock, the demons.  And they chase me.  Sometimes I try to chase them, too.

            The words, they create places—whether escapes or prisons, I’m not sure, but I go every time.  I live there, in worlds created by strings of sentences and my own imagination.  I’m safe from reality, but I am putty in the hands of a masterful story.  I don’t belong in either world, but both can claim me.  I don’t belong, but I can’t leave.  Because why would I leave in the middle of a story?  Do actors leave in the middle of a play?  Do dancers leave in the middle of a song?  No.  That’s cheating.  So I stay.  And the words still own me.

            The words have all the power in this world, you know.  I can be molded and changed and arranged to do whatever they want me to.  They are brutal and merciless, and I feel weak and powerless in comparison.  I cannot stop them, the words; they are infinite.  I have tried to escape them, tried to stop and walk away.  But with each word—each book—that ends, a new one begins.  I try.  I try to pull back, to flee their power, but I am drowning, drowning in the books, and the words are my life preserver.  They let me breathe, let me live, but only in the world where they live, too.  And maybe—secretly—I love it.  Maybe it’s my drug, and I just can’t get away.  But I know I could.  I could if I wanted to.

I am a prisoner.  Have been since I was young.

And I never want to be freed.