Freedom of speech
Is the key
The key of life
And every bee,
The words of speech is a mighty power
The power of birth
The Birth of Enlightenment,
It shines gold,
Gold as fire
The burning and firing
Of a speech wire,
The freedom to speak
Is worth a billion years
Imagine our lives
With alarming peers.
So, if my vocal cords can't collaborate to produce sounds to communicate audibly to your beautiful mind that I have an endless mission of loving you, can't there be another way to articulate this feeling?
What are my tongue, lips, alveolar ridge, hard palate, and velum doing?
I never knew that emotion could effectively shut down my speech tract.
How I wish my voice could play a melody into my heartbeat, and my heart have an audio port above my skin, so you can plug in your headphones in and listen to the lyrics of my love, because you have rendered me speechless.
I had it scripted in my mind how I would tell you eloquently how beautiful and charming you are.
Yet when I drew nigh, I decided to start with hello, to show some decorousness.
But I soon realized that my lungs couldn't even draw forth the air necessary to widen and narrow my vocal cords, and I stood ultimately voiceless, except for having stammered those 2 solitary syllables, let alone the remaining dozens.
Should I comply with the belief that actions speak louder than words? That I might employ charades to better convey my feelings?
I always thought I was one who could speak with the power of a warlord, yet here I am before you squawking like a sick parrot.
But what could render a spoken word artist so totally silenced?
Maybe let's try establishing causality.
The first time I saw you, you blinked.
When you opened your eyes again, I saw a vibrant blue universe I wanted to explore.
Is that what silenced me? Well maybe you could do that again? It might set me free.
Don't wait for me to ask,
I can't speak.
I hope you never go to an event where the performer needs to concentrate, cuz you'll distract them and they might actually die.
It's because of what you carry,
More mystical than mermaids, you shroud me in Medusa's curse, your eyes communicate to mine, and I am now petrified.
I came of my own volition, but now I'm at your mercy.
Look away and set me free.
Instant infatuation within me converted into electric surges and fried my sketch tract.
From a distance I was in great haste to meet you. Up close, I slow to a halt and stand like a big, dumb pillar.
I wonder why I am speechless.
I wonder why I am speechless because I am a man with a silk tongue who can stand before a woman and captivate her with words.
I wonder why I am speechless.
My negative lips attract positive kisses. Maybe we're both negative, so we repel.
How I wish my vocal cords would comply at least enough to produce a sputter of some kind, so at least you know that I'm stricken.
My hobby is to speak, and I am well practiced, so I wonder why I can't even stammer.
My phonetics cannot produce a squeak, let alone weave an elaborate syntax to melt your heart.
How unfortunate it is.
I am speechless because
I am in love
Please stop screaming late at night
It's dark in here and my ghosts are taking advantage of me.
And don't even stop speaking,
Because silence is like a cannonball
Way too heavy to stand for my chest.
Please stop beating for people like me
Who replaced their hearts with an inkwell.
I know it's not your fault
But I'm already remorseful,
Take charge of this one.
Please don't ever fail me
Take me to the end of the road
Hoping my bruises will not become galaxies with which confront .
We don't like jokes in India
Our beloved leaders are so pure
We cannot stand the slightest tainting
Their lilly-whiteness might endure
Our happy comrad may be an ape
Perhaps a rabbit, a dog or a snake,
But even if he were a crocodile
His impeccability should never be at stake
Our happy fists will help you to recall
The mercy and the strength of our leaders
Grace, wit and reason we don't need
Now go to Pakistan, you and your readers
it has come to me that i have never truly known anyone.
speech comes through filters,
through carefully constructed creative collisions
and decisions on what words we should allow to
spill through those iron gates we call
the people i think i know the best -
the boy with crooked glasses who i can burst my heart upon
and trust him to bear the darkness with a cheery grin;
the man with a crooked bow tie who allows me to critique his jokes
as if they were works of art;
the person behind the stained computer screen i now work at
who takes in my streams of consciousness with a mind that
reads painlessly into them but will never quite understand -
are not the people that i know best.
those people are the ones typing at screens like mine;
those whom i have never spoken to and most likely never will;
those who look out at sunsets like the one i see through the library window and think,
'why can't i paint that with words?';
those who understand that words aren't a gateway to a person -
they are a rabbit-hole that hurries you down through analysis and
cold hard truth.
and i realise as i sit here -
a battered blue folder and curling textbook piled next to my computer canvas,
a blue backpack deflated on the floor next to me,
freezing from lack of heating and lack of person -
that i do not know anyone better than
the awards you take
the new days you describe
in your speeches
The soap box betrays you
Twitter. Tweeting. Facebook. Facade.
Insta. Instant. Dopamine rush.
If you could separate your self from the stage,
that would be great.
-- but if you're going to make a political statement
while accepting an award for your humanity,
you might want to think about what your
individual actions tell the world about you.
Who will listen?
Who will ask?
Looks like money once more
takes the last laugh.
The toilet's right next to it yet you still piss in the shower
Your man is at your party but you're still a fucking coward
Your life is flipping burgers yet you still get extra hours
Your boss was your old boyfriend, now your friends are all his plowers
You have nothing to live for, you're no problematic fave
You're taking all you can and in the trash goes what I gave
I stayed with you for long enough, thought you were mine to save
All you had was track marks but I was your fucking slave
You aren't with me anymore and you have nothing in store
You aren't something special, you're a loser, virgin whore
Being a huge enigma's all you got, it's all your lore
I wish I could forget you, I am not you anymore