For the Bitter Writer
by antichrispress
By Christopher Stoddard
I don’t need your brushes.
Save your voice for the radio.
Give your dance to the crippled.
Lay your clay in the sidewalk.
Nail your wood with some savior
And use his blood for the ink in my pen.
I am a writer.
I will explain your paint.
I will draw words for your mouth
And line messages ’round your legs.
I am your dead brother,
Her missing lover.
I am a chameleon
Caught in vowels and syllables,
And you say me how you want,
And I’ll be what you want to be.
You can’t hang my memories on walls,
But you can keep them to yourself.
You can’t twirl my messages,
You can’t mold my mind,
And you can’t die for my sins,
But you can remember them.
I’ll make sure you remember them.
There’s much to ponder here. I’ve written it down to consider some more. I especially like “I am a chameleon…” to the end, but wish you would delete last line. The tone changes with that line.