I love words.
Always have. Always will.

I hate words.
Always have. Always will.

I love how they can cover us like a blanket on a cold day.
I despise how they can chill us from head to toe like an icy wind.
I love how they can be arranged into works of art.
I despise how they can be manipulated into shards of glass.

The way they taste after I let my wounds pull them out of my guts in defence.
The way they smell after you pull the pin and the explosion of them detonates in front of me.
The sharp ends of them cutting my throat as I speak.
The shrapnel gouging my chest as I read.

I have spent years pouring over the words plastered on the walls of our lives
The paragraphs scrawled in hurried anger.
The smudges of tears all mixed in.
The way they twisted around each other like a python suffocating the words that came before.

The way they sour as they drop off the page when it feels as if there is nothing left one could say.
No bridge they could build or soil they could find to plant something new.

If I could use my words to plant a tree for you to find protection under
I would plant them with care.
If I could use my words to pass you a cup of grace,
I would pour them out just for you.
If I could use my words to create a bridge from me to you
I would build them strong and safe.

The taste of our words are as sweet as honey
The taste of our words are as bitter as blood.

I pray for words like honey.
I pray for words that bridge.
And I pray that when we taste the bitter words and they become like sharp glass,

I pray we find that glass of grace and we partake of the words that heal.