Words
liberate you.
Words
constrain you.
Words
move people.
Words
immobilize them.
Words
heal us.
Words
make us bleed.

Words
can be colossal
and equivocal,
that people are willing
to stain their hands with blood
or embrace all spectrums of humanity,
that it can make us
plant trees with sorrow
or dry rivers with hope—
driven by thousands of meanings
spoken in just
one sentence.

And if the exchange of words
between us humans
is not for being discerned
but only to generate more words
made to counter,
if words are reduced as a tool
to assert control—
I might as well just
pen poems,
keep them in written form,
aimed only at me,
read only by me.