They say words come to me easy

They say words come to me easy
That my words lie motionless,
Swirling on the surfaces of my raw emotions
Raw emotions
They say
That all I do is pluck them out like apples from orchards
Slowly. Slowly. Slowly.
Done.

Words don’t come to me easy,
I don’t pluck them out. I wrench them out bare-handed or from weapons
Weapons of my past
Whichever leaves me writhing or shattered
Because,
Someone told me art never comes from a place of  happiness
I know my art doesn’t. It’s an act of redemption and mental self-flagellation
But my hurt has a purpose.

Words don’t come to me easy,
I revisit antiquated memories that were better off untouched,
I visit them. Breathe them. Chase them.
And when they consume me, my thoughts deftly sieve out the pain on my sheets.

Don’t you dare say words come to me easy,
They don’t.
I allow them to spew acid inside my being
Char my insides
Cripple me hopelessly

And you say they come to me easy.

– A