By Hillary Watson

Published: 2020-05-24

Sometimes the paper writes it for me.
Sometimes the music plays itself.
Sometimes my dreams are the way I choose to speak.
Sometimes I listen to myself.

Sometimes my lips paint in colours.
Sometimes the colours paint my lips.
Sometimes my tongue melts the words before I say them,
Moulding and reshaping ’til they fit.

Sometimes I question if you know me.
Sometimes I question if you’re there.
Sometimes my mind screams louder than anything you say.
Sometimes the hush catches me unaware.

Sometimes I question if I’m honest.
Sometimes I question if I’m kind.
Sometimes it all slips through my fingers.
Sometimes I can see when I am blind.


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