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Words

Writer's picture: Leah Scott-KirbyLeah Scott-Kirby

Updated: Jan 30, 2024


Words never used to stick so suddenly or surely to the inside of my cheek.


Words would carry heavy in  my mouth, careful not to spill down my throat for fear of being lost,

tossed out.


Words once snuck up my  nostrils, crawled slyly into my ears, but never had they  ever disappeared.


Not like they seem to have, now. Sprinkled solemnly at my feet, snuggled between my toes, twitching in their sleep so they might prick and tick, and lead me somewhere impure.


Why abandon me at a time you know you’re needed most? My palms sweat, you see, and inside my mouth, my tongue has grown dry, while you stick to the sides.


Whisper something soft, please. Murmur vulgarity in your sleep.

Reciprocate and reiterate, remember and reproduce. Rekindle the burning flavors, piercing my poor, forgotten tongue. 


Try and see, for me, how nothing good can come from washing oneself with the sea, when the waves only take some.

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