I
The more words I have, 
the less there is to say. 

II
Thinking has become an act of 
meditation in which I run my 
fingers through my hair, 

III
ruining the curls and forcing 
them to become straight, limp tendrils 
that try to crown my face. My new 
silhouette is unnaturally natural. 

IV
Maybe I started with a base of two 
and that's how we got here. How do 
you do it? Speak so eloquently, I mean. 
Never quieting down. Always walking 
along a comprehensible path of paragraphs. 

V
Do my words still make sense? 
I'm fearing they sound strange. 
Do you know what I mean? 
See, this is why my dictionary 
might be better off 
tucked away in a storage bin.