My voice chords have taken a vow of silence.
My mouth moves. My tongue hits my teeth.
Lack of sound makes sense.
My lips look like a red wreath.
Too much enthusiasm doesn’t seem to work.
Too much keeping distance leaves me bereft.
I sit waiting for someone to make me talk.
In the meantime, my neck turns left to right and right to left.
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Author: aprettykettleofpoetry
