The forgiveness of paper

I always wanted to do spoken word poetry, 
but paper is too forgiving.  
It's so easy to pour onto paper 
what you think, 
how you feel.  
To become what they want... 
expect, hope, fantasize... 
to hear.  

If there is a misspelled word: 
bitterness, anger, frustration, blame... 
there is always the spell check. 

Or if there's a typo: 
misunderstanding, miscommunication, 
misappropriation, miss-everything... 
there is the backspace key.  

And if all else fails, 
and the words are too much: 
too far, too long, so long... 
there's always delete.  
And start again.

Paper is too forgiving, 
I've imagined how it feels: 
scribbled on, removed from, blotted out.  
And then discarded once it's been read, 
or not.  

I mean, how much paper is recycled 
that's never even been touched... 
till it's tossed in the shredder to be 
reshaped, remolded, reconstituted... 
to become something else.  

How many poems are written 
that never even get read.  
At least words spoken out loud 
have a chance if screamed... 
or whispered... 
loud enough, 
to get heard.

Yes, paper is too forgiving.

Sherry Lore
Sept. 2015