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Poolza Aug 25
The blind speaks words of wisdom
but the deaf cannot hear

The deaf asks the man a question
but the mute cannot speak

The mute signs to the blind
but the blind cannot see.
Aurianna Aug 13
If my hands were numb to your touch,
and my eyes were blind to your affection,
I would still compose love letters for you with my lips.
For I could never piece together,
the perfect words that express truly how much
I care for you.
So instead I speak in tongue.
Breathlessly sliding my mouth in and out of yours,
like the pause in between a sentence.
You're a book I don't want to put down.
i write to express myself in a way i could never speak with my mouth
Banele May 2
May God show me the way
for I  fled to the edge where I lost my way,
where I am surrounded with logs.

come and rescue me
among the mist of my heart
where they call I have to listen.

does it really talk?
Does it talk with it palpation,
maybe the bathing of blood?

come and rescue me
from the secrets of my heart
as I burn from the high volts of my heart.

come and rescue me
where I needed you I discarded you
I chose my ways away from you.

your etiquette I left alone with biting cold
where grass leeches every page
of your scripture.

I am tamed a sinner as I failed
to tame my tongue as your etiquette
stated .

come and rescue me
for my heart ekes me out.
Let's go back to history
Where TVs aren't voiced

Let's play a game,
Where you guess what am I thinking;
without me voicing it out

Let's do some quiz
Where you guess what am I feeling right now
behind my masked self

Let's do some roleplay
Where you become a psychic
and me giving you the telepathy

I wonder...
Will it reach through...
archived Oct 2018

I'm sorry

I didn't mean to push all you buttons.

I was just looking for


Em MacKenzie Feb 16
Existence stretched through a detour,
two spots; unknown in direction.
Turning left when it was right before,
keep all guessing, slide past detection.

I’m not a one stop shop,
once I housed hand crafted originality.
With the increase in demand I let my guard drop,
and now both my shelves and insides are empty.
I believed in a watcher behind me,
I held onto tight to an invisible thread.
Everyone is just silently constantly reminding me,
I’m isolated and alone even in my head.

I hear the loud pop of plastic against plastic,
feeling both relief and shame simultaneously.
Side slipping and back breaking; I thought myself a gymnastic,
though incredulous was the thought of even competing.

But I was sleeping in a Chinese finger trap,
so assured that I would choose to make it a womb.
You couldn’t hear a pin drop but with the concept of a single tap,
ears would shake and ring as if it were a sonic boom.
I’ve got nothing but dirt and dust on my shoulders
I pass it off as glitter and simple magic.
I show no signs of tiring from passing back all the boulders
if I didn’t let them slide it would almost be tragic.

Pardon my complacent self involuntary involvement,
and excuse me while I perform dramatic ironies.
Preparing the conscious for the next inevitable instalment
of prepared monologues of justifications and fallacies.

And I can’t but think in this instance,
I remember the episode of The Simpsons
where Homer is outcasted for screaming “aliens”
and he drinks himself out of existence.
“Red M&M, blue M&M,
they’re all the same colour in the end.”
Really had to stretch for that last reference. Not the best.
Kivanc Jan 22
If I have to talk about amour
I can't cause of being mute
This is my creature
Which is whether bad or not
And this is my illness
Which is whether contagious or not
I crawl in desert I create
Hoping to see you in a mirage
In order to be my life
Why do you run away from me?
I mourn you a lot
I hope that I write properly.
MSunspoken Jan 10
I may be mute but I can promise you this,
I know better than most,
of this long dark abyss

I watch from afar,
all the mistakes that you make
and how you hastily cover them
adding icing on the cake

Though I may not be perfect
and my throat is made of ice,
I have a voice of silk,
simple yet precise

A house made of brick
I stand strong in the presence ,
of the tiny cardboard cookie-cutters
built weak without foundations

so kiss my hands
and bow at my feet,
bending to my will\
and admitting your defeat
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