the worst part is that tightness in my throat
all the voices i ever was, shredded and stored in my voice box
the worst part is that there's no place to scream
no place, that allows that impropriety, without being deemed insane
when it's the sanest thing to do.
the worst part is that there are no words
that fit the messy ins and outs, smooth passages and hard ridges,
the worst part is that the tears come less staged,
they aren't for the reflection of some adolescent sorrow, a figment of what pain could be
the worst part is that it's real
not a commercial for voicelessness but finally the real thing
the worst part is, I can't speak anymore,
the worst part is, those shredded voices are all the worst parts of all the strangers I've come to be.