Fifteen years back, in some school cell
with long shadows flooding the question floor
Hours moved between rattling lead.
Two faceless glass panes. Standing out of time. They wanted to prise out what I already knew.
To put them in language. Definitions they yell.
To frame the right words. Scary like the handmaid's tale.
I pored over thick books and wrote and rewrote what I already knew.
I erased to fit in right words which they said were only a few.
Till my pages tore black. Till meanings drew in words and blew in me the lack
which it didn't. My language has stitched many faces since. The way I use it hidden on video calls today. Still.
Splitting my roles between hours
I walk up nights like this to feel
what I couldn't.
I try let meanings move and language crack. Turn and watch. Smile and write. Of wrong words and queer tunes that your truth hear wouldn't.
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