The Gift

(clears throat)

Words. 

So many words come to mind that group together like constellations of stars that form the signs that we all happen to coincidentally be born under. The same signs that will then determine our demeanor & assist others in identifying our character before we even learn our ABC's.

The same words that are uttered by a man half the stature that his intellect boast but twice the man that his stature presents. Similar words to the words that may have previously fallen on death ears that might have been reborn had he mustered up enough courage to wear a different tie to the party... WORD!

My words slide out of the small part in my lips and float slowly through the air as if they were being usher into your earlobe by the melodic rhythm of life and life itself seems to sway to the notes that I spoke into existence. Those words slip into your ear, are processed by your brain and slip you into a trance that makes want to do nothing less than slip your under garments off. Those same words are the words that get processed by your brain and make you want to slip your hand in your bag and draw your can of mace. Those just so happen to be the words that make you hate me but not so much because you hate me but rather because your words say you hate me but truth be told, words may lie and you just hate to love me. These words grouped together to form a main idea in this thesis of a life that we are active members of determine whether we speak for the next month or not. These words are our navigational system because without these words we would just wander aimlessly. These words are the best damn words you have heard in a long time. These words are our judgement, our jury; with these words I am god.

What is it about the fusion of my eyes with your eyes that allows for the perfect atmosphere for my conscious to generate such words to implant in your brain that in turn cause you to elicit a response that is so monumental in the progression of our existence that it can only be compared to moving mountains with MY OWN BARE HANDS...

Why do my words make you smile?

 

SoHo