i could speak a thousand languages in one / to you- 56 times a word uttered, with a different meaning, every time; understood / or not- i am trying to pull my ribs apart, to help the flowers grow better, even though i cannot breathe. i am clogging my throat with the left over rain on my tongue from the day we kissed that first time. i’ve drawn maps, marking every hollow space in my body for every place you touched / now, with a mouth of words, and a voiceless being / meanings do not ring. there is no explanation for this.
here, the poem tries to save my mere attempt at beauty, and it fails. how language wraps a noose around my neck, and chokes me / usually, i’d say i love it. language swings me about- word to word, feeling to feeling to say, something / to you but there is no saving this, or me. or you. i wish i could tell her to rest instead of us failing each other every time. i wish i could tell her that i’m not good at this, and neither is she.
here, i try to save the poem- fishing for phrases, and words caught in my throat; throwing bait, as your name, down- again, and again to get something out / with meaning, and i fail again. there is no need to quiet down, and yet- i cannot speak. i cannot say. i cannot say. i cannot say; enough, for the both of us. words are not enough; i lie in an empty room, about blooming poppies / i lie in an empty room wordless / voiceless / speechless- and it feels the same.
a word is, a word is, a word is a declaration / never truly enough. based on a prompt by @sjovris
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