Language and how we speak to eachother is engrained in us. I’ve not been writing as much lately. Sometimes ideas come and then kinda float off. But I wrote this and didn’t want to stop or it would’ve floated right off too. With all the news and things going on I personally think it’s a good time we all found our voices.
(Pic of person I have permission to use )
Can you see her tongue ?
It’s scarred with all the bite marks of
all the unsaid thoughts and remarks.
Her tongue held prisoner between the sharp bite of reality.
Would those words be wishes, crude jokes, optimistic thoughts or harsh comments that are akin to a murderer slitting throats on a killing spree?
If those teeth set the tongue free would the words fly out like butterflies or as fast as a cheetah on grassy dry plains? Where the words slip out so fast you gasp, or would the words be like a grass snake smooth and mysterious slithering up the roots of the knowledge tree?
The scarred tongue full of memories . Full of the times she was catcalled where all she could think of were words like fuck off.
Or the memory of when her lover said he no longer loved her. Her dignity bit into her tongue as hard as an earthquake till she could run off.
Her tongue followed a series of silky moral manners. Of never complaining even when it caused her such misery.
Tongues bitten hers and ours of the 58 families from Palestine. Where the bites and tears can’t be measure indefinitely .
The bites bring up history in the making again where humans are reduced to nothing by world leaders. As though they are no more than the gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe an annoying monstrosity.
Bites are big bites are small as an anomaly
Like the time her meal was completely inedible. She bit her tongue and paid she still thinks of that restaurant bitterly.
Or of how her close friend keeps bailing or postponing all the time. When what she needs is an ear or a shoulder to cry on just so she can tell someone how bad her depression is right now.
Society tells people that speaking up or defending yourself is rude, crude, brash, and harsh. As though showing distaste is a hassle that no one can have time for or to allow.
As an American I get told I’m brash. since living in the UK it’s common knowledge that the British love to moan, but not about the important things like hardships of immigrants, low paying jobs, and just shitty treatment.
Listen and bite your tongue this poem isn’t about hating a country. Both are equally just as bad. I think our tongues and teeth need to unclench societies agreement
She needs to let that tongue free. No more bite marks. No more hidden fillings of despair, no more secret lovers. Let the words slide out of her mouth like the water from a faucet warm and relaxing like a bit bath where you can sink right in.
Midnight Cafe 