Dry riverbed

Some days the words flow so quickly I wonder if they even belong to me at all, this outpouring river of metaphors and explanations and questions – and then the next days I am but a mute person, my words abandoning me into a silent mess, unable to express myself or summarize one mere thought-

I want to tell you so many things but my words default me. My words refuse to leave my mouth and my fingers, sticking like the underside of duck tape, saying “no no no I’m not leaving here” where ‘here’ is safe and the only home they know. It is worse when they are loud and clear in my brain, a waterfall, and when I get them to come out they’re one teeny tiny water drop that I manage to shake away. It doesn’t seem fair. Like it should be my choice, not theirs.

As if.

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