The Importance of Words

Synaesthesiacs may see numbers as colours.
But I see words as pictures.
Photographs and home movies,
From the albums of my life up till now.
Discovering a new word,
Is like opening a brand new picture book.

I love metaphors and similes,
I collect them,
Like postcards from holiday destinations.
I even make them up.
"He was being a frock"
It is soft, flouncy and has tiny blue flowers,
Gathered at the waist, long puffy sleeves with cuffs.
" She is as crazy as a cut snake "
The one that writhed about headless on our back patio,
Three years ago.

I read books I can cope with.
Some images I do not want in my head.
So I read the last pages.
Why invest in a relationship,
With a character who meets a ghastly end,
That I perhaps may never forget?

I like my words to be precise.
I have MY pictures for their meaning.
I have little tolerance,
For thoughtlessly chosen words.
Arguments have even turned nasty.

Despite this,
I often can't find the right word quick enough,
To maintain flowing conversation.
Then,
I resort to swearing.
Funnily, these hard callous words,
Don't have pictures.