Words

It's hard to write while watching Slam Poets perform because in my head, my words have life.  Then I realize that they are simply static, synthetic pixels on a computer screen that truly don't exist at all.  The voice playing them back to me in my brain is misleading.  My words don't fluctuate with emotion and the tone of my sentences can't warp itself to convey my meaning.  Each letter is just a bit of information like a forgotten conversation between old friends.  On a Thursday night when I should be preparing for homecoming I am instead starting a blog because of an idea planted in my neurons by a conversation with a friend neither old nor forgotten.  Now I sit in my chair with the floral upholstery and two missing springs and wonder if I'll be able to convince my fingers to record the messages I have in my brain.