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FumbletonguePoems
I am the truth you feel but can’t explain. The question you whisper when no one’s listening. I am quiet— until I’m not. Then I am thunder with a poet’s tongue. I am made of mirrors and masks. I want to be seen— but not all at once. Some parts I protect like holy things. Some parts I scatter just to see who notices. I am love, laced with warning labels. I give freely, but I keep a part of me tucked away— because too many people have called my softness a weapon or a weakness. I am both the ache and the remedy. I will hold you in your grief and still walk away if you lie. I speak in stories because the truth is too sharp raw. But don’t mistake the wrapping— the blade is always there. I want deep. Always. Give me your mess, your edge, your quiet panic. I don’t care how pretty it looks. I care if it’s real. I am not easy to hold— but if you can, you will never feel more seen. I am contradiction without apology. I am fire that won’t beg to be warm. I am the secret and the siren. The open door and the lock you don’t know how to pick. I am. And that’s enough. Even when it isn’t for them— it’s enough for me.
0
Jul 11, 2025
Jul 11, 2025 at 1:16 PM UTC
Self Reflection 1
I am the truth you feel but can’t explain. The question you whisper when no one’s listening. I am quiet— until I’m not. Then I am thunder with a poet’s tongue. I am made of mirrors and masks. I want to be seen— but not all at once. Some parts I protect like holy things. Some parts I scatter just to see who notices. I am love, laced with warning labels. I give freely, but I keep a part of me tucked away— because too many people have called my softness a weapon or a weakness. I am both the ache and the remedy. I will hold you in your grief and still walk away if you lie. I speak in stories because the truth is too sharp raw. But don’t mistake the wrapping— the blade is always there. I want deep. Always. Give me your mess, your edge, your quiet panic. I don’t care how pretty it looks. I care if it’s real. I am not easy to hold— but if you can, you will never feel more seen. I am contradiction without apology. I am fire that won’t beg to be warm. I am the secret and the siren. The open door and the lock you don’t know how to pick. I am. And that’s enough. Even when it isn’t for them— it’s enough for me.
Fumbletongue
Written by
Fumbletongue
49/F
Jul 11, 2025
Jul 11, 2025 at 1:16 PM UTC
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