the conversation in your head
begins like this
first, it is not a conversation
you are just a party
hosting your anxieties like
a neighbor who brought
his closest cousin depression along
the conversation in your head
begins like this
first, it is not you wanting
to talk to your self but everyone
in that empty room expects
you to speak but you shut up
holding millions of promises under
your throat, surviving only
on trapped dusts of broken dreams
inside your lungs
your breath slowly get lost
they say you a mute
no, you haven’t been taught how to
spit out thunders
before a sign of a rain
the girl in the arms of water
has a smile that glows
she brings her sadness to a spin
before tucking her to bed early
the girl in the arms of water
has a smile that glows
any drowning day is a perfect day
of surrendering
the conversation in your head
begins like this
it is much louder than the sermon
preached from the pulpit on sundays
it is much louder than the music
coming from your neighbors room
it’s louder
it’s louder
the conversation in your head
begins like this
i, too, hate the way a lot of
women meet to converse in your brain
i, too, hate all these women the same way
but how do we get them out?