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antigone-moriorPoems
Five years old I could not speak My tongue, glued to the roof of my mouth And my cupid's bow lips quivering with unfounded fear A feeling that I could not connect – could not fit the mold that had already set. I moved through the years A sprite of quiet pretenses Both shielding myself and unknown to myself A feeling that I was Too real, too present outside of myself Even when the years wore on This selfsame sensation transported itself too What I wanted to say and what I said were divided I tremble and I stutter and I still can't fit the mold. Only a liquid cure can ever ease the pangs, but I won't rely on that. Instead, I tell myself It's better this way. I am an enigma to be discovered If you will only try. Slowly, I think I am knowing myself. A quiet exterior but inwardly A loud booming that will sound forever.
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Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
Mouse
Five years old I could not speak My tongue, glued to the roof of my mouth And my cupid's bow lips quivering with unfounded fear A feeling that I could not connect – could not fit the mold that had already set. I moved through the years A sprite of quiet pretenses Both shielding myself and unknown to myself A feeling that I was Too real, too present outside of myself Even when the years wore on This selfsame sensation transported itself too What I wanted to say and what I said were divided I tremble and I stutter and I still can't fit the mold. Only a liquid cure can ever ease the pangs, but I won't rely on that. Instead, I tell myself It's better this way. I am an enigma to be discovered If you will only try. Slowly, I think I am knowing myself. A quiet exterior but inwardly A loud booming that will sound forever.
Written by
antigone-morior
New Zealander
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
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