Despite Popular Belief, My Tongue Is Red, Not Silver.

It seems a cheap focus to call out minor details here.
The way you broke like glass when the pressure became too much for you.
Well I'm still here holding up a world you left behind,
Standing with buckling knees on a concrete pedestal doused in flames.
I know that sometimes I need to be brought down off my high horse
But goddammit that horse is all I own.
You wouldn't trade me a penny for all these words
The silly metaphors and useless phrases I regurgitate to pass on a feeling.

I spent years building fences so my feelings would be good neighbors
and stay as far away from my mouth as they could.
I shoved them down so deep it caused an ache in my knees and a
Swelling that will never go away.
Now that I try to channel them here, I find out how hard I made it to feel at all.
It's hard to run from the truth on arthritic ankles, or a wounded knee,
with a broken back and bare feet.
Perhaps a lisp would makes these things a little more interesting to hear
To even my own ears.
I'd almost rather write in another language, just to feel like their were more words
To express the things I wanted to say.
I'm not uninspired, I'm just tired.
Tired of expecting too much from myself, like all these words are gonna make someone remember me.
So I keep writing them, in hopes that they will.
But who will ever read them?
How will they ever make it any further than this page?


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