A Mouth Full of Silence

I’m hungry.

Not our typical hunger—

the kind that stabs,

that craves indulgence,

freedom in food.

.

I gawk as others fulfill their desires.

Their hunger cries—

they satisfy.

Lucky.

.

My hunger?

She cries for days,

weeks,

months.

But I can’t satiate her.

.

My stomach pleads for privilege,

my mind sobs for normalcy—

but my survival denies it.

.

Denies my dominance.

My control.

My strength.

.

I battle against survival.

It refuses to settle.

And because of that,

my voice remains loud.

.

And my hunger?

She will continue to scream.