My brother tells me
“Don’t think about it too much.”
Yet I can only
Think about it again
Think about how the words won’t flow,
Spill over the glass of my mouth
Onto the page,
Soaking in my heart along the way.
When I can feel my thoughts as my words,
As they flow down my agate skin onto my pen,
Some go unnoticed
In the desolate maelstrom of my mind,
Forgotten and lost to the empty void.
Yet it is this same void that inspires me,
Regurgitating the words I used to say aloud,
The words that slid down my glass neck,
Bitter as those that spoke them.
You stand proud with
Your unbreakable barrier,
Not sealed but
And me, a
Bottled up brown neck
So full yet I can only barely
Stretch open my throat to give you these words.
That you don’t understand me.
Don’t understand the pain I’m in,
The pressure that builds up from never speaking;
But never breaking
Because I won’t let it.
Won’t let out the torrent of words
Letting out a drop will open the rest
And I don’t know
If I’m strong enough to pull it back in.
So I’ll sit,
A bottled up brown neck
Sealed tight at the lips
Tapping on the lid
To keep out the bubbles
That threaten to break me.