The voice in my mind
Has a lisp—
My thoughts slur
Together,
Never fully coherent.
It is sweet,
In a way. But I wish
I could
Speak clearly, with
Conviction,
Instead of gaining
My willpower
In too-late moments.

I looked down at my boots,

Studied the trailing laces,
And wondered how they
Had come undone.
Were they snagged on a
Small bush, a bramble?
Or in my haste to prolong
The fears I had to face,
Did I duck down and
Untie them myself?

It was a careless murmur,
Spoken on a belated night,
Settling itself in the air
As they spoke on and on.
The words meant nothing
To them.
“Grandma passed away,
Oh yeah. . .”
“Because I love you,
But see. . .”
“Remember your aunt?
She died.”
They were soft words,
Meant to be recieved
Lightly, on silent hands—
But they were surrounded
By so many others, all
Tangled around, until
They didn’t feel real

Anymore.