#mutism
God did not mean to give me a mouth.
He meant to give me hands, eyes, a heart
but not a mouth.
When I speak something in me bleeds. When I-
I speak, and my eyes fog over like glass.
I can't see you standing there, I'm so sorry. Show me again, where did you put the bread?
I feel like a thing that needs to be forgiven.
I feel so fragile sometimes.
I am trying to understand the
weight of the evil inflicted upon me.
It is heavy. I never understood that 'till now.
I wasn't meant to carry this weight, but I do.
I wasn't meant to speak the way I
so often will, but I do.
What can I say anymore?
I can't write without bleeding. I can't speak without knowing it is a wound. How can I communicate without tearing something open? I'm afraid of shutting up and looking for my language. If I decide to leave behind every word that hurts me, would I have any words left? Will it **** the little bit of connection with people I have left?
Listen.
I hope you forgive me for the little sadness I'll inspire in you.
I am afraid, but don't pity me. I am blossoming and becoming something else.
This, apotheosis, this becoming closer and closer to my own light.
It is a process that requires allowing death.
What must die must die. Allow grief.
I'll leave you with this:
If you slept next to me, it would be
much like sleeping with a letter under your pillow.
Every night, every night...
*"Here I write to you a list of cruelties I am capable of.
May you never forget:
I have made the flower so that it may blossom, and I have made the lamb so that it may eat it.
Blessed be the one willing to become.
Here, the flower. Here, the lamb."
- God*
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 10:15 PM UTC
Slip, slip, slip to the brink,
they imagine you're dancing.
Freeze there, they see proof of control.
Choke out a few words?
Then you're lying.
Stay silent? Well, then you're a fraud.
Slip, slip, slip to the brink,
and I'll join you.
Freeze there, and I'll keep you safe.
Choke out a few words?
Then I'll listen.
Stay silent? Then baby, I'll wait.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
sad? melancholic? nostalgic?
eyes flit to a distant memory, a
different time ー
nostalgic? melancholic? sad?
where stories weave in and out of
a young mind ー
sad? melancholic? nostalgic?
once weighed down by heavy blocks of unmelted ice ー
nostalgic? melancholic? sad?
but are now buoyed by words, floating up freely to the surface ー
sad? melancholic? nostalgic?
bravery bubbles up on the inside,
shattering the ice coating your tongue ー
nostalgic? melancholic? sad?
the word house finally opens,
but nothing comes out.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 10:22 AM UTC
they are
her stars
read and re-read
immense in their power
vast and
predictable
telling fortunes
spinning time
keeping quiet
her stars
out of reach
and inimitable
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
"Why don't you talk?"
I smile and shrug
"I don't know"
But I do
It's not something I can explain to just anybody
The anxiety that crawls up my back and breathes down my neck
The flaring of my cheeks and my speedy heartbeat when anybody speaks to me
"She doesn't talk."
They say to anybody who doesn't "understand"
But I do
I think but I don't say
For fear that my tiny words won't be heard by their fleeting ears
or maybe my voice will crack in some unflattering way
I'm afraid that everyone I care for
will leave
bored by my silence
or impatient with my lack of words
I'm trying
honestly
To find the courage to let words fly
To let them carelessly flow out
and caress whoever dares to listen
But they all know me as
"The girl who doesn't talk"
That's all they focus on
"I'll get you to talk!"
"We'll be friends!"
But those people don't ******* care
I love when someone speaks
without expecting me to say anything
but they ask my opinion
and ignore the fact that my mouth is closed and notice my smile
That's when I open up
That's when I'm finally comfortable
When they don't see me as "the quiet girl"
They treat me like I'm normal
not someone they have to "fix"
Because I am not a broken toy
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC