that was never my language
I remember the first time I met you
so clearly.
You spoke in different languages
in my ear
to distract me as you put your
tongue against mine,
I guess you were trying to get me to
speak.
But that was never my language.
No, no… that was never my languge.
You remember the grip I had
around your hand?
Of course you do, my handprint is still
there.
On your heart.
Remember, remember when you asked
if I would ever let go?
I’m still here, aren’t I?
You were too focused on getting me to speak,
To focused on what was in my mouth.
That you forgot to look into my eyes.
My language was always right in front
of you.
I was never loud enough
It was never enough
It seemed as if your tongue wasn’t good enough
to make me talk anymore.
But you figured something else would.
Do you remember the look in my eyes? Of course you don’t.
You were to focused on making me speak.
But I spoke.
I speak all the time.
With rivers of salt that flow from my
eyes.
I am the loudest person you will ever
meet.
