While We're Alive

Cursive Tongue

My tongue speaks in cursive.
They loop and spin haphazardly,
Unintelligible to anyone who doesn't learn this language.

My family and friends started this as a joke.
An explanation to my stumbling words,
And twisted murmuring letters.

I've had to remind myself to speak slower.
Give people time to learn and process the words that spill from my tongue.

They used to say I could be a doctor.
Writing prescriptions that only nurses and pharmacists could understand.

They say I have my own font when speaking.

They say that people with sped and ugly handwriting have a higher chance of intelligence.
Your brain is thinking and processing faster than you can keep up with,
And your hands are trying to jot it all down.
Get all the thoughts,
All the strings,
Connect all the dots
Into one coherent thought.
Some form of legible code.

Maybe my cursive tongue is a sign of a sensitive heart.
My heart that feels too much,
That hurts to easily,
That beats like feeling of a first kiss-
Quickly, heavily, and unsteady.

And my mouth,
My tongue,
Is only trying to keep up with all that my poor heart processes.

My words are an archeological discovery.
A whole new set of hieroglyphics.
The language of God and his spirit, written carefully on stone, that only the experts,
Who have taken the time to learn
And interpret these words I speak can understand.
And in them discover all the blessings
And curses,
The treasures and traps,
The benevolent and malevolent spirits that haunt the ancient temple that is my body.

Lead me to an explorer;
Not everyone can raid temples.
But lead them my way,
And let them try.
Any survivor that can pass all that is in this broken down ruins of a once beautiful temple
Is worthy of all the treasures they find along the way