Since we were born we are given these ideas of how the world is supposed to be

I always thought I couldn't be beautiful because I wasn't blonde, I didn't have blue eyes, I wasn't good enough and you didn't understand.

and I paint these words and see how they turn out, but when I read them back I can't help but think there's got to be a better way to get my point across.

If only we didn't have these eyes that mislead us to thinking the outside mirrors the inside

Maybe if we didn't have these ears that allow us to listen to the lies spewed from the mouths of those are are stained and damaged, trying to pull others down to their depths

Perhaps if we didn't have these tongues, we wouldn't have to taste one another, and become hooked on the expelling lust that causes us to do things we can't believe

Could it be that if we didn't have our hands, we would have to accept everything we couldn't touch? and we couldn't write these poems but instead we could feel them inside us, like blood keeping us alive

My heart is ear-splittingly screaming but my voice remains a painful silent. The disparity between the two bickering halves leads me to a final inquisition,

darling do you think it's conceivable that if we couldn't talk, we wouldn't have to? do you think you'd hear it all?