Words, Words, They Make Beautiful Pose.

Our friend 𝔹𝕝𝕦𝕖𝕪𝕖𝕫 recently wrote a version of this poem ... "Word Junkie"  I was looking to write a review, but while trying to comment on a different twist, I was Inspired; I requested my Muse come away from the fire in the pit on the patio and hang out. She cried and complained, but in the end, I won out... However, I can't Vouch for the quality of her suggestions. Still, we really liked Blue's offering.

So to ole' Blueyez, I offer the highest of praise: I stole borrowed from your work. Not because I am a jerk! Though some might claim so, it is with minor disdain. No, your words got under my skin. I'm Addicted to Words, particularly yours. So take my theft, my inspired loaning of your poem, not as an admission of my self-loathing, But a claim of what is better praise than taking the literary license to steal borrow from a most talented friend?


Addicted to Words

My Addiction— it's words, and also to verse;
My Muse, she's my dealer; I'm helpless against her seductions.
Her fleeting teases, her playful taunts,
and when all else fails, she flashes me her tail.

These words intoxicate; oh yes, they incite conversation.
I read, I speak, and I'm compelled to etch them down.
From youth, in the grip of words, I've attained,
There is no escape; in them, I'm forever bound.

A compulsion as unyielding as the grasp of liquor and all the other vices
without my words, my life's tale is a scroll unread.
Each day, a new experiment, searching for my euphoria,
a library of books, my ceaseless feast.

Immersed in words, I'm intoxicated; in verse,
I plunge, as instinctive as the necessity to breathe and flourish.
Words on my palate, a tantalizing flavor,
coursing through my veins, they're never wasted.

They agitate my mind, unfurl my thoughts joyfully,
I whirl in the cosmos of language.
I am an addict turned peddler; I craft lines to ignite crazy thoughts.
I disseminate and pontificate, compelling others to behold.

My words a captivating allure of theatrical acts,
"Give them a try," I suggest with a knowing smile,
"You can abandon them at any time," I claim,
knowing well they're entranced beyond return.

Oh, Joey, you blew it; your poem lacks rhythm and rhyme.
No worries, I say, Holding up my guidebook, "Poetry for Dummies."
We'll call it "Free Verse."
It works perfectly for those like me.