I speak like a slave to remind those who have forgotten that in their chosen lack of memory we can find those who still live in chains.

I speak like to a king to show those who believe that they are not of class that money and birth do not dictate what we become.

I speak in tongues to show those who lack faith that sometimes having it simply means trusting it.

I speak like a child when I need to convey my playfulness, and when I am scorn or anger I become the parent speech.

Lacking the knowledge to bridge the gaps of social and human connection, I find myself speaking a language that everyone seems to have forgotten.

When the milk of human kindness turns sour so does our spit to venom as we sink our fangs into one another hoping to survive the pack and sit atop the bone pile.

I find myself speaking a language I did not know until I knew what it was called, and by that point I was already jaded to my fellow humans.

Language, I inked it on stone as I gave up and walked away, leaving everything to understand how I was speaking for the next linguist to uncover.