I’m still getting used to this lion in my mouth.
the notion of seen and not heard
still aches in my chest,
despite the waterfall of words I seem to spout
whenever my lips part.
When you’re trying to stay silent,
some times it helps if you cover up the abscene
with something meaningless
like empty poetry.
Laughter is also good.
If you can laugh about it,
it can’t of been so bad.
But time can chip away at you if you let it.
Too much silence
can eat the soul of you completely.
Not matter how small
If we just don’t mention it,
ignore it and carry on,
then it’s not that big of a deal
so why make a fuss.
Women always make a fuss.
At night I feel silly,
walking with my car keys turned
to the sharp edge of a key-chain,
cold and hard against my palm
Alone is when I think about the school corridor,
his face split in two with that sneer
as I tried edging past him,
never close enough to touch
but clear and looming
this way was no longer mine to go.
In the light of my own hallway
I drop keys, and bag, and shoes,
and every memory of him,
the other lurking moments too.
We don’t speak about those here,
we don’t like to make a fuss,
those are the things for silent, empty rooms,
and notepads destined to gather dust.