There I was stammering
As if I was drunk
And perhaps I had too many shot glasses of reality that I needed a hit of something that could take me higher
I need to open a book and climb into a story
Escapism is as essential as air to human beings
Reality has to be, and I am convinced, the lowest form of existence
I mean I know other dimensions exist
Aided by the divinity of my imagination I’ve traveled there since I was kid
And the dealer proceeded to ask me, “What’s your drug of choice?”
Words etched on ink from other souls, hearts opened despite their scold and the bitter sweet only a poet knows.
Deal me words that merge like Nature’s graceful transitions from one season to the next season. I want fire, ice, naked skeletons of trees from the leaves that
But dawn gave her the promise of the sun
Spring on to me like a bud and blossom right before me
Hunt with me in the heat of the summer as I lurk in libraries shelf after shelf desperately trying to be found by a book. Fishing, I was lucky and caught a few titles to take along with me.
So there I sat on the floor, arms draped around fiction novels like lovers desperate to take it the next level. My drug of choice is drinking words and smoking their sounds as their messages levitate me in a state of highness not even the greatest junkie could ever know.
What’s your drug of choice? Whatever it is, we are all addicted to it’s promise to take us away.
By Janell Hihi