Invisible Crowds

Pendulum swung
Centuries of scores becoming evened

So terribly many words for disclosure’s sake
Too many words to hear

And, I, of all people
The victim of generations of silence
Of crowds who couldn’t speak

Now feeling deafened

My Speech

I never received my concocted potion

The one I’d ordered, for I’m an adult

May it stave off the foggy notion I’ve forgotten who I was growing to be

I’d ordered it to compliment my life

I mean -balance my meal

That’s what adults say, don’t they?

It’s okay, the delay, but bring it, damn it!

Said with a smile that hopefully hides

My slight disgust with myself for wanting, no -needing- the potion at all

Bring it

Before I am faced with the oh-so uncomfortable

To leave here bright-eyed and examining

My un-slurred self-talk

My speech

Can’t

I spoke of it gingerly
In the back corner booth
Not of my choosing
Appropriately dark yet public, alike
I wondered
Would they believe or deny their ears
Embrace me or send me packing
Give or take,
It has been eleven hundred fifty five days
I still cannot tell if the words left my lips

Not With Hatchets

I am your oak tree
As I stand beside your knee
Will you speak to me
Not with hatchets in your eyes
But with birds’ nests on your mind 
And honeybees so kind
Care for my green arms
Feel my shade protect from harm