words that couldn't be controlled
if they were released into empty air.
We would get lost in our words
In fumbling attempts to express the unexpressable,
to keep our dignity throughout the whole process.
It's easy to purse lips
To pursue a noble silence
To weather out the tumultuous storm.
Easier for you (or me) to explain.
You (or me)
We are looking for a simple regression
Some language through which our heavy tongue can swim,
sewing patterns of reality instead of the usual murky designs
Spelled out insilent embrodiery.
Our skin, stretched tightly over
brittle, protruding bones. Screaming
There is a death in self expression.
(Live Journal messes with the formating, so it doesn't look like it should, there is a visual aspect to this poem, le sigh)