poetry

because (period)

there are people inside me
they branch away like
the fingers of nerve endings

they listen to the crinkle
in my words
the wrapple of wind
through my teeth
a choke of emotion
trembles like a symbol
standing on the page

please listen to
the grammar inside the street
you can show someone how
to spill words from their throat
but they will never know where
to place a period
or catch the breath of a pause

the claws of quotation marks
clothe the words we wrestle
the feelings we hoist into the clouds
a sombre symbol
alone in the story

listen to the voices
framed with ritual
ready for a storm

 

PhilosopherPoet

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