My fingers seemed to like this poem. They found the words fairly easily on the keyboard.
There are sound bites in my mouth,
Biting at my tongue
And my fingers
As I type these words for you and
Hope you are interested enough to swallow
Are you interested in more than just my fingertips this time?
My fingers extend for fuel
As they dance across the keyboard
Without a tutu,
Or a hope.
It’s easier to type for your love
Than to chew my words into syllables
That you will understand, and
Won’t dry out my mouth like stale bread that
You discarded yesterday.
Who do you want me to be?
There are different ways to ask you,
Combinations of letters, nouns, and
Yet I can’t seem to find the
Vocabulary that opens your mouth
Or your mind –
I hope you open your eyes to read these words.
©2012 Christy Birmingham
The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. ~Anaïs Nin <Tweet This