the shape of words when I was little, the words came to me. nestling deep, they begged me to meld them like a blacksmith to iron. they took many forms. sometimes they became a jagged blade of steel, happy to destroy as they saw fit. they erupted through me, a wildfire, and turned the people around me smokey gray. sometimes their words wanted to burn too. but mine were precise and doused the flames. yet while mine lived, they burned me too. The shorter ones always hurt the most. other times they were as smooth as a pearl. they became the words people wanted to hear. to comfort their own broken sisters, the words formed a comforting blanket and became what the people needed. a lifeline, a reassurance, a friend these words were always people’s favorite. though sometimes pearls can be chipped. no one notices such flaws. and yet sometimes these words take no form at all. they abandon me, and become lost at sea. if I try to rein them in, they struggle more, and leave fragmented ideas. they are as wild and untamed as the ancient gods, spoken in foreign tongues. what metamorphic and volatile creatures.
Isabella Melians (she/her) is a sophomore attending school in south Florida. She is the vice president of her school’s writing club, “The Writer’s Circle”, and has been published or is forthcoming in Rasa Review, Fever Dreams, K’in Literary Journal, Spillover Magazine, Ice Lolly Review, NonBinary Review and other reviewers. She is also a poetry editor with Outlander Zine and Kalopsia Literary.