Word

She who will not keep her own word
nor stand behind it nor accept responsibility for it
rather uses a word as she would any lap dance move
can hardly be expected to recognize others
true to theirs.

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14 Responses to Word

  1. maggie says:

    One can always learn how to speak. All over again. We all do. Even you.

    • One will never learn to speak when one’s first lesson is to deny responsibility for one’s own words.

      Nor will one ever learn to speak when one clings to the belief that word is inferior to act, never realizing that word in truth IS act, nor is any act pure without its word.

      Nor will one learn to speak by merely recycling old words in a vain hope that maybe they’ll work this time, when one denies the truth of why they were not allowed to mean anything before. Meaning isn’t a game of chance.

      Yes, I will always be learning. Some refuse to.

  2. *hug* I know the one you’re warning of, Maggie. That’s not what nor whom this poem was aimed. I know, that one is invariably more quick to the attack than to hug a true friend in need. But that one long ago forfeited the power of word in love, so is of no effect in the use of word in hate. May the kisses given so freely now be far worse than the ones denied to the one who still truly loves, and may the broken mirror find all else. But that is no longer any concern of mine, nor was it even background noise to this poem’s word.

    Read it in my voice, as I’ve heard you do before, and you will know. So yes, I will be careful, as I always am with any word. I am still learning, yes, but I don’t deny any word its act, its power, nor its life. So yes, I am so very careful. I know what I’m doing. *hug*

    • maggie says:

      *blink* Oh C, dear friend, that’s incredible! Sheer genius! I confess, at first I didn’t get it and just tried hearing it in your voice, without actually doing what you recommended. I wasn’t getting it. So finally I began reading it aloud. Still no click. Until I really did what you said to do: I put on my C impression, gave it the inflection I knew you would give it, and zinged it out. And *flash*!! Like that! You know what I saw, right?

      Myself.

      Yes, myself as clear as a photograph in clear light. But was not offended because I trust you and I love you and I know you didn’t tell me to read it that closely without having a damn good reason. So I looked closer, and I know what you fucking did. You put up a fucking mirror.

      So yes, I see me when I read it right. And anyone else is probably thinking you wrote it about them. But being a mirror, you’re writing it to yourself. Brilliant bit of work.

      May I expect you’ll be keeping this mirror up for all the rest you’ll be giving us here?

    • maggie says:

      P.S. And as for her ex, don’t waste any of your energy on reinforcing her own curses that will fold back into her. You have D and her love, and no attacks from the ex or anyone else can prevail against that. As she is no longer your concern nor gives you or D any background noise, best to forget her than to turn against her. Let her take care of herself to that end.

      Besides, from what I know from the short time I’ve had the privilege of knowing you, you are most effective on using the power of your positive energies. Follow what you see in that mirror of yours, and love and grow and help. (And write, damn it, write!)

      L, m

      • Memory’s all fiction, that’s a fact,
        on what to treasure versus to replace.
        An enemy’s enmity stays intact.
        The lover’s face we easily efface.

      • She’s the only person I’ve ever known myself to have difficulty with. Even my mother I forgive every single day and find things to do to make her life better. Even my own ex, cursed as his soul is, I can’t wish any evil upon. What is is about D’s ex that gets me so riled up?

        Doesn’t help that she calls me “D’s little c” to my face. And not only failing to capitalize the letter of my name, but using that other c-word in place of my name. Catch her talking behind my back, and I bet it’s even worse. Take it from there, and you get a good idea what I’m up against in trying to return evil with good.

        Still, your warnings are well taken, Maggie. I don’t have to let her poison infect me.

        Even so, as I said, this poem was not to her or about her or for her. As you have found, it’s a dedication of this new set of my poetry in the form of a mirror for myself. Every single poem I write here, I will first be looking into this poem’s mirror, then will glance back to the reflection throughout my writing, then will come back and scrutinize myself before posting. And if I can’t keep the words in my own mouth with that mirror in front of me, then I have no right nor desire for the words to be given to or read by or thought of by any other reader.

        (P.S. Flights are always shorter when you sleep as much as I did. I hope I see you again soon.)

      • The tongue’s unforgiving biting pain,
        thick blood seeping out the jugular vein,
        the back muscles’ paralyzing strain,
        violent discharges disrupting the brain,
        all stamina swirling down the drain
        – we can’t protect you from yourself again,
        we can’t protect you from yourself again.

  3. maggie says:

    Oh.

    The reader.

    No wonder I was seeing myself so clearly when I read it in your voice. Yes, I’ve danced for him too.

    And you’re right. As valid as the dance can be in its own right, the word must reach past that to be true to the poet.

    Welcome back.

  4. maggie says:

    Don’t forget, I borrow your mirror rather often.

    • macheide says:

      Remember to see through your own eyes when you do.

      Never dismiss what others see and always listen; but remember that too often they only see what they want to see or only tell you something that was never there to be seen at all.

  5. Reblogged this on clarior e tenebris and commented:

    ⠀⠀⠀⠀
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀In the Key of C
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀My first note will have been
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀my last word which always was
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the voice through which I echo
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the breath I know to be mine
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀inside our shared moment.


    for Denise as much as for me,
    memory of this beginning prompted by Daily Prompt: Origin Story
    at the Daily Post

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