She gives the gift of gab!

When her love snapped onto my back, like a rucksack to be worn
The old me died, a rambling man was born.

My words are playing a twisted game of Temple Run
The monkeys are her eyebrows, cocked like pistols, and we're playing Russian Roulette.

My words are emptiness and hot air and imagined shapes, yet not nearly as two-dimensional as constellations.

She's a phrase I just learned, and will incorrectly overuse.
She's a worm in my ear, impossible to lose.

She feels like two cups of tea at three in the morning.
She feels like assembling an RC car without reading the instruction manual.

And by God, those eyebrows.

I need her like rocks need water and snow needs the sun.
I want her like turtles want to fly and eagles want to run.

She's that feeling when rain comes down on an empty highway.
She's half a bottle of Elmer's glue I just dribbled onto my hands.

I miss her like broken bowls miss Cheerios and holey socks miss feet.
I miss her like diarrhea misses constipation.
I miss her like NBC misses viewers who have turned to online news sources.
I miss her like journalists miss exposés.
I miss her like polar bears miss ice caps.
I miss her like avalanches miss snowy peaks.
I miss her like Hiroshima survivors miss World War One.
I miss her like cities miss silence.

Mostly, I just miss the silence.

it is a dry feeling
in my soul and my mouth,
as though speaking
seems too much of a troublesome act
to commit

as though a crime,
to utter a word
or two
or a sentence
or a phrase

so I’ll stay quiet
in hopes that the people by me
will understand --

and if not, let them be
because I only care for you
and you’re the only
one
who can release me
from this
selective mutism.

A word already spoken cannot be taken back.
No matter how we wish or pray
"I'm sorry"
Is not enough. So I darest not speak it.
Though I feel it in my soul.
Until regret can fully be portrayed in my words
I will speak not
And hope it is not to late to recover a friend.
One cherished in my heart,
A friend I wish I had know to treat better.
"To early unknown and known to late"

I say, come out here and smell the air
just know the truth, it's no proverb
we'll walk in the same direction
an alliteration of great affection
let's become someting else
a new letter in the alphabet
one not needed but sure to bet
euphemisms to this bland world
a hyperbole for us to hurl
think and feel and get to see
a portmanteau of you and me
it may be a cacophony
enjoying the sun in a balcony
but in the end its all like this
no order in front, below or above
a sweet oxymoron
individuals falling in love

If I tell you a secret,
will you hold your tongue?

Hold it, like you hold your child,
a close and loving embrace.
You should love your tongue,
for it lets you speak.

Your tongue, is how you speak your mind,
and through your mind you speak the truth,
and there is nothing more beautiful

than the truth.

But there will be people who
won't want you to reveal the reality.
They might tell you to hold
you tongue.

But you were born to speak.

Love you tongue,
your right to shout from rooftops.
Love it, but don't you dare
restrain it.

Hold it for tact, but if injustice
requires you to zip it
so it can continue.

Don't you dare,
push it out through your teeth
to make a sound,
a scream.

Love your tongue,
but know, that it has to move.

Hold thy tongue*
it wriggles
between my fingers
it stutters
across my palm

my lips
long for its
most loyal companion
my tongue
basks in its
liberation