Poetry

Lip Locked

Considering all the words I have in my head, all the thoughts, opinions, the attitudes that make me me, why, when I have chance to open my mouth, does the flow of my mind run dry?

Why can’t I be the one to argue a point and deliver a message succinctly? Why do I stutter and stare, fighting against my very self just to say something simple, or think in a straightforward way, before my answers stumble, scattered, from my lips?

Why? Why? Why do I need to justify myself to myself? Justify the way that I am? Why does it matter if I can’t verbalise my thoughts,¬†when I can with paper and pen?

Poetry

Little Moth Girl

Whose eyes look out from the page

two black dots

that carry so much more

than graphite or ink.

Flame red hair that makes her fellows flock to her

tugging, pulling on her ringlets

in place of flying into light.

Fluttering, her winged dress

blends with the coffee creams of her surroundings.

She is invisible to the untrained eye.