You would think
That after biting my tongue
For so many years
That I enjoy the taste of blood

I don’t

I am beginning to fear it
The after taste is the worst part
It stains my words

What used to be soft whispers
That would roll off my tongue
Are now rolls of sandpaper
Scratching away

Until all that is left,
Are no edges
No sharp corners to cut me when I am brazen

My mouth is filling up with all the words I should have said
They spill out and form around my sneakers

So now wherever I walk
I am reminded of that silence