Our flesh makes words
which are caught
like peanut butter
on the roofs of our mouths. Trapped
by teeth
until they can be freed.
But they’re too alive
for our unmoving lips
and we’re choking
on the verbs that won’t cease,
the nouns that fight,
and the adjectives that breathe
and beat
against our natural rhythms.
We've got participles
dangling from our tonsils.
On our imperfect palates,
they form sentences.
Thoughts.
Ideas
that must be spoken.
Shared.
Heard.
These words that form
in the madness of our hearts
and bubble
in the heat of our cheeks
aren't questions,
suggestions
or even statements.
They are commands.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
Our flesh makes words
which are caught
like peanut butter
on the roofs of our mouths. Trapped
by teeth
until they can be freed.
But they’re too alive
for our unmoving lips
and we’re choking
on the verbs that won’t cease,
the nouns that fight,
and the adjectives that breathe
and beat
against our natural rhythms.
We've got participles
dangling from our tonsils.
On our imperfect palates,
they form sentences.
Thoughts.
Ideas
that must be spoken.
Shared.
Heard.
These words that form
in the madness of our hearts
and bubble
in the heat of our cheeks
aren't questions,
suggestions
or even statements.
They are commands.
