I have never had a way with men, or women for that matter. I've never had a way with keeping appointments or making time. I have never had a way with acting on stage, dancing in groups, singing in front of strangers, or cooking for boyfriends. In fact, in every way possible, I've never had a front-way, back-way, side-way, this or that way with anything. Except words.
I'd like to think I have a way with words-- a way that could stop time or stop war, a way with words that could make some one's heart go flying out of their chest or sink into the bottom their stomach at any given moment. In my own way, I'd like to think I have the power to turn words into tiny nuclear bombs, morphine tablets, x-rays, time machines, rocket launchers, or defibrillators. In my way, my words can make you or break you.
Most people spit words at the floor, wasting them like scraps left over from an old project. Most people use and abuse words with the air of a one-night stand. But I use words to suggest, to imply, to try, to insist, to demand, to lie. I leave bullet holes you can't wash away. I can pull the trigger of my tongue and hit you square in the chest. I can shoot you with a poison so potent that it slithers through your blood stream like an endless nightmare and then swirls around forever in your head.
Verses, syllables, vowels, consonants, epigrams, ballads, paragraphs, sentences - they're all components of the most powerful machine any person could hope to control. And I know exactly how to create it, I know how to maintain it. Wouldn't you like to know?
When you see me, you'll think I'm small. You'll think I'm insignificant. You'll think I'm quaint. You'll think I'm meek. You'll have me predetermined until I open my mouth to speak. And at that very moment of new-found clarity, you will come to understand that I've never had a way with anything.
Except words.
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