I might be

I sometimes receive unusual glances
when I illustrate the images
I see in my mind when I exercise and
work out my favorite words
In a block of text, everything is a
picture, everything is an emotion,
A shape, a whirlwind and mixture of
lovely potions to magically
Seduce my intellect and nurture my
imagination,

When they look at words, they are just
inked black things they practiced
on other inked black dotted lines,
curves, circles, lines, squiggles
They have to wiggle onto paper with
crayons, pencils, or pens
But for me, before the tip of my pencil
hits the paper to carve out a word —
Images of landscapes, vivid
movements, saturations, architecture,
seasons, outlines of animalistic
features, shadows that grow in
sunlight,
emerge and flood my inner eyes, my
words are condensed visions
of a shifting, unending film of plots
and subplots and stories coursing
And spinning around in my mind

What if words are our universe, a code asking us to reflect back on time
By conjuring up things of everything that were once real or are real, depending on
the way you think of it, process it, and acknowledge it as everpresent and there
Hidden behind words like shadows, just right over there, and all we had to do
Was learn how to unspin that code, those riddle and rhymes, to unlock
Other universes and places in time

______
Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

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