Wasted Words

I could tell you

Of the sun

 

Of how to speak

To walls

And make wet autumn leaves

Crunch

 

I could tell you

Of a girl

Whose voice carried her

Across the Atlantic

 

And I could tell you

Of the dangers

That lie in her self-made sea

 

I learned

Long ago

That my voice

Will not break under

The weight of yours

 

I could tell you

All of this

While your eyes

Scan the room

Wanting to fix upon anything

That isn’t me

 

But your misshapen ears

Cannot hear

And your eyes

Will not see

 

I learned

Long ago

To stop trying

To make you understand

What it means to be

 

Copyright notice:

© Zeinab Hassan Fawaz and Broken Dolls, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

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