We must know God
To reflect Him.
Or else we will accept
The warped circus
Mirrors’ interpretation.

The hours tick by--
Simply beads on
A chain, sliding
Down, down,
Running out of
Space, of yellow
Pearls to complete
The reoccuring
Sequence I 

Cannot bare
To see disrupted.

My bracelet of
Security is
Bound to break,
Scatter the floor
With all of my
Hopes and
Plans.

Words do not translate as lyrics—
They become fumbled and awkward.

Why do they crumble when I voice
Them aloud?

Isn’t volume supposed to give words
Power?

Blisters sear my fingers, disappointment
Blooms,

And I realize I can only sing the songs
Of others.

The question of how to communicate
Has always plagued me.

I once knew, when I was little, before
People called me bossy.

But I slowly unlearned, thinking that
Timidity was preferable.

It was more acceptable to society
For my words to fumble.

But why is that? Why are words so
Feared when truthful?

Can we not simply speak our minds,
Refusing to sugarcoat?

I have always thought the sugary rim
Of a glass too bitter.

It leaves a sour taste in my mouth,
Resembling a sweet lie.

How do we learn to communicate
Properly, when forever
Serving frosting off sharp knives?

There were words in the lay

Of the wooden slats, whispers
From the rusted pennies, songs
In the crystalline spread of light
On the ceiling—
I saw words everywhere.
In everything.
But when I looked at your mouth,
Moving in shapes I’m sure I know,
I did not perceive anything.