Starved Of Words Poem by Cherie Mort

Paper is my bread
And ink is my water
I've got enough bread to last a week
And enough water to fill a swimming pool
But no words

The words are what are most important
They're the food in my stomach, guaranteeing I don't go to bed hungry every single night
Without words, I've got bread and water
But no mouth to ingest either

My pen is my fork, my spoon, and my knife all rolled into one
Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword is right: the pen is a triple threat
The knife cuts
The fork pricks
The spoon scoops
But again, they are useless without words

I try to draw with my bread and water
But all I can make is mud
Flat, frustrating mud that couldn't feed a frog
I crumple up another slice of soggy bread and start again
After my week's share of bread has been greatly diminished, I give up
I hold my head in my hands, the latter soaked with ink
My swimming pool is almost a puddle

I tap my pen against my head, thinking of what to write next
Suddenly, it's as if a faucet of thoughts has just been opened in my mind
I write furiously, burning blisters and calluses into my hands, aching up and down my arm
If this sells, I may have enough bread for a month and enough water for two lifetimes

I sit back and read over what I have written
Meanwhile I stuff soggy, crumpled papers into my mouth, forcing myself to literally eat my words
The bread is bitter from the ink, but at the very least I have a mouth for words
After all, the words are the most important