I Write In Clichés

I write in clichés

Because

No matter how hard I try

Every time I try to talk about

Love

My brain grows thorns like a rose that sink

Deep slashes into my ink

And instead of creativity

Words that have already been spoken bleed onto my paper

Turning the white sheet

Into the color of chloroform concealed in a rapist’s cloth

And I am forced to pray that

I am not impregnated with a

Cliché brain child that will

Scream his hunger into every one of my pen strokes

I write in clichés

Because everything that I

Want to say has

Already been expressed by another

And I can’t write about Nantucket because

Everyone already knows how it will end

And I can’t compare anyone to a day after Spring
For fear that 10 lines later I will

Look back at the syllable stones in my wake

And realize that my trail requires a

Brisk game of hopscotch to traverse

And the hunter is

Always poised to

Discharge his shotgun when

I flap my quills

Scratching out my path towards

Finding my morning meal

By the light of the newborn sun

I write in clichés

Because it makes it easier to hide my true feelings

Behind the veil that

Covers the features of a Muslim bride

Never showing you my beauty until

You have proven that you are virtuous

And willing to sacrifice the

Option on your vows to negotiate with

Other teams for a better quality deal

Because my words must be offered a superior dowry

Or otherwise as their father

I might exercise my right to refuse to walk part of my herd down the isle

To stand before the sacrificial alter

I write in clichés

Because every time I

Try to convey my feelings

The life guard lets the rope attached to my life-saver

Slip through his fingers

As he waves from the shore

While sharks circle my quickly stiffening body

Waiting for me to give up on salvation

And become the latest Narcissus captured by her

Optical wading pools

I write in clichés

But they are of my own concoction

And like an expert chef

I experiment with common ingredients

To give every serving a unique taste

That lingers upon your tongue

Until you begin to salivate onto the page

But the saliva that drops from your brain to form your next stanza

Was coaxed out by my mingled spices, the components of my mixed clichés

So therefore

I write in flavored clichés