it is just before it is my turn to speak.  my mind is the inside of an atom.  the inside of a hive.  the inside of drunk stomach. everything I want to say coming up at once.

before me.  she is speaking about the body.  the feminine.  so many ways to the body. the feminine.  touch…***…birth…rebirth…and after me.

she will use her body to speak.  hair as long and alive as the rays of the sun.  fingers catching butterflies.  her voice inflected.  deep thoughts.  fluidity.

everyone has a way.  to express.  but it is not easy.  not like she and she makes it seem.
freedom is hard.  one foot doesn’t always follow another.  most times it doesn’t.  
we struggle to say.  what we feel.  the fear. of not connecting.

something blocks communication
even if the words escape
and even if I enunciate perfectly, clarity lives somewhere in the miles of air between us.

freedom is hard.  one word is never perfect.