Spoken Word (Lost in Translation)

-- by: Cicely Joi

Aug. 17 2006

you asked me to get up there and speak....

saying my words are worth the attention of open ears.

I'm deep huh?...

my lips are profound?

So why can't you listen when I tell you my thoughts??!

Why are my words so wrong to you?

Why are they twisted, misunderstood and intent made unclear?

Why should I feel safe about flowing to strangers when you..my family

can't even follow?

My words fall silent tired of having to explain the voice behind it each

time.

I used to retreat to my red book...my black book...a scratch piece of

paper...a napkin...ANYTHING that can help form my thoughts into characters

that could be definite.

Characters without a voice so they are just exactly what they are meant to

be....no other explanation needed.

No justification...no proof...no regret.

I write on anything to just feel the satisfication that at least

SOMETHING...inanimate as it may be...will understand.

No Questions asked.

I feel many times it (that little torn piece of napkin with cookie crumbs

nestled in the black freshly wet inked words that bled through the 1-ply

fibers) is my only true confidant.

That friend that's always there to pick up the phone when i need to

talk...

that is out with me getting a cup a coffee when i need a comfortable

ear...

that doesn't care what time of day it is to be there and ready to hear my

rant.

My only true best friend.

Sadly that torn up piece of napkin is just a reflection of myself. The

only one who is routing for me, understands my words, and allows me the

comfort of feeling ok to just be me.

So why do you insist I speak to strange ears?

Will they understand the emotions that created it? Can they follow me in

the memory of my experiences?

I don't claim to be clever with my words... I'm not the one to speak to

wake the blinded and ignorant mind.

When I walk up to the mic..all I have to speak is Me.

My pain, my glory, my happiness, my annoyance, my amazement, my curiosity,

my enlightment.

My delivery is not forceful and poignant. I'm not concern with rhythm and

rhyme.

Strange ears are waiting for something creative and grabbing.

I can only promise the complexity of Me....

You, my family never can handle that..

so why do you insist i get up there and speak?