𝚁𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜

They gather like storms behind my teeth,

Heavy and heaving, without release.

Each syllable held, sharp and raw,

Scratches the walls of a clenched maw.

*

Not every truth is freed into air,

Some burn brighter when left there—

Buried in the vault of bone and breath,

A language of anger, Mercy’s death.

*

But silence builds its own sharp blade,

A mouthful of debts I never paid.

The voice withheld, the song unsung,

Still thunders loud in an empty lung.

*

My tongue, a prison; my throat, a grave,

For every “no,” deepens the crave

and grows a vine of verses, tight and fierce,

Threatening the lips they are to pierce

*

Until one breath—a screaming chord—

opens the vault, unsheathes the sword.

And all that we had once contained

becomes the flood, the storm, the flame.

*

That is the sum of what's unheard—

That is the weight of

repressed words