I have words to speak, but my tongue is
still numb from the flavour of your lies.
I have a truth to tell, but i’m not sure
whether to swallow it.
Keep it buried where it’s
Who I really am, living in my
making a home behind my ribcage,
stifling my wings.
I have a decade of stories, bursting behind
swollen lips and flustered cheeks, shame
carried in my face.
I want to find my voice, but I think it got
buried beneath yours in my throat and I
can’t remember what I sound like.