When I speak
I lacerate my mouth
and it fills up with blood.
Staining my lips
the same shade of red
as my chipped fingernail polish.

I find refuge in words.
They can hide or reveal.
Encourage or suppress.
Begin or end.
But when spoken out loud
words change from butter knives
to daggers.

Ouch.


Ouch.


*O u c h.