Anyone

If you ever stop screaming

you‘ll pass for anyone else.

Silent,

yet screaming.

But only ever deeply,

only ever low,

without parting your lips.

And how boring life is

when all your gross and sticky

all your soft and slick

all your color and blood

is only ever deep

and only ever low

where the world is too tall

to squat and look.

How sad when your confusion

sees no clarity.

When the twisting in your gut cannot be spoken into

the air

and vibrate off the back of your teeth

and mix with the salt of your sweat

or sweeten the taste of your fingers,

dipping in and out of accusations,

tracing faces in dirty carpets,

pinching your wrists till the screaming is over.

What a tragedy

to pass for anyone else.