“Tell me with your mouth closed.” – my soul
I’ve become obsessed with finding my native tongue, to find a voice beyond speaking. I’ve tired of spoken words. I want silent music, untranslated sound, scribbles on paper that not one would dare pronounce.
I want the freedom to be misunderstood, and at peace with it all. Just, God, don’t make me have to talk about it.
Love is a feeling thing, you know? And I just want to feel it through every corner of my padded room. Do I have permission to not make sense? Because I’d rather make babies instead. Do I have permission to cry, or are they taking all the salt out the waters to keep us from healing?
Baby, what’s happening? Shh! Tell me, don’t say it.
Can I let this go — this fetter of speech … this freedom gone beyond boundary into the chokehold of bondage of the worst kind: where nobody admits that the unspoken is truth, too?
I don’t want to talk about it though. I really don’t.
I just want to be rocked into a dreamless sleep, or at least a silent one…let me go, sweet Mother. I’m full with milk, and dripping with nectar grown sticky from not being tasted. I belong to the world of the most beautiful things: things that smile without faces…
Please — don’t make me talk about it anymore.
Just let me tell you in something other than words.