Too much lost in translation
Transportation
Communication
This game requires no imagination

I find no elation
Of why it’s called Chinese Whispers
Since it’s English that we’re whispering
Since I can actually whisper in Chinese.

I suppose it dates back to the 17th century
When Europeans and the Chinese tried to meet
And tried to speak
And proceeded to fail
To no avail
They still could trade

So today we have this game to play
Unknowingly proving in many ways
Even to this day
We still cannot understand
What others try to say
Like whispering Chinese to English speakers.

Words are beautiful.
They can reshape reality.
Vibrant and bold or light and subdued.
The thoughts you express, are infinitely hued.
So many shades dictated by soul.
Unlike a picture, they can leave a hole.
Interpretation is your frenemy.
Some will understand you and others will hate.
It all depends to how they relate.
In your beautiful words some might see error.
Miscommunication,
The ultimate terror.

With every affirmation
My tongue trips over the unspoken  
Unrequited acceptance of current circumstance
My submission is insulting
Unbelieving, you see my lowered eyes as an attack
Belly up
I am confused
Unsure of what movements are appropriate
Frozen, doe-eyed and exhausted from the constant dance
Do I bow
Do I speak
Merely acknowledging my emotions
Sends shockwaves through the tentative peace
I was not built for this
A goddess prostrated
Stripped of her very core
Caged and chained
But it is almost as if my very attempt to accede
Is a declaration of war
What kind of existence is this
Trapped between personage and possession
My only purpose is to please.
Allow me.

Demons possess me
In a most peculiar way.
Take over my sight in spectrums
No-one can see

Sweeten my gut,
Swallow my hate,
Sedate my mind with hellish drums;
I smile more times than not.

Whispers crack the frown on the face of me.
Beat me.
Till smiles out of me trumps
And smiles become the only thing
A passing stranger can see

smoke-sheet eyes, you
questioned me behind
a mesh divider
all my hot hard "no"s
all my parting throes -
terrifying, endless, and gaping.

you questioned,
and never answered
you opened me like
an underripe fig
I didn't understand
how a person
could pull me apart
too soon.
Now I mould
over, I bruise
and hug the wet,
black ground.

No combination of words
no choice phrases, no desperate adjectives
will help,
when telling him what I mean, feel, know.
Though how could it help when
all of it, in the end, he reads as fiction anyway.

Try as I might, try as I do
I craft the altercation
as I sleep, work, eat, unwind
constantly, constantly.
It seems to always come out the same -
contrived, because it is
pathetic, because it is
and meaningless, because that, in the end, is
what
it
really
is.

The problem, I have found,
is that dialogue is what I crave.
To bounce off, thrive off, relish in -
though silence tends to come from him.
Maybe though, just maybe
He only needs,
One word, which amongst all these gets lost,
and perhaps, can never find its way again.

"Do you see the sky?" I asked
as I waited for a response.

I waited,
and waited
and waited.

I realized that there wouldn't be one,
because the conversationalist
I speak to
(in my head)
has left.

The sun sets to the north of the mountains,
if you're standing in the front yard it's hard to see.

But I see it when I dream,
when I think of happier things,
I wonder why I feel so distant,

I wonder why when I pull my irises back into the socket where they sleep.

"Do you see the sky?" I asked
You responded, finally,

with the most dismal response one could conjur

"that I do."

When all I wanted,
was to share it with you.

This was never meant to hurt you.
It was a simple miscommunication,
a stumble of words.
"Words" can be so easily misspelled to say "swords,"
and swords can impale.
I suppose words can, too.

I,
   the dried flowers on our porch.
You,
        the growing cactus.
I am beautiful,
                         but stagnant.
You grow,
                                     Sharp.

And sometimes,
the wind blows
                    and my petals dance.
And sometimes,
you say
              the most lovely things

But I Can't Touch You.