Sunday, March 17, 2013

my wife ran off with the butcher again

the girl who carried her words with her.
her mind was a suitcase
filled with things she meant to say.
stuffed. heavy.

the girl who stormed with words
wanting to throw her thunder at others
and impale people with her voice.
wanting to be a weapon.

but she really was the girl whose words were a desert
empty, dry.
thirsty to speak her mind, but parched when the time came.
but at night, with no one around, she came alive;
with no one to talk to, she finally found her voice.

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