Thirty Going On Infinite

There are eight months before I bid goodbye

To just the second decade of my life

Yet, I feel infinitely old

Weighed down by an invisible hand on my heart

I struggle to sense authenticity in

Anything I feel now

I feel like a fake particularly when I laugh

I fear the tightening around my throat

When I struggle to let loose the words

That crowd within me

And when I do manage to say something

The release brings me no relief

Instead, I find I dislike the sound of myself

And the grass seems greener when I don’t utter a word

*****

I now know that most people don’t listen

They only talk, often without listening to themselves either

And there are a few, like me, who are born

To just listen and offer no comment

To just speak when spoken to

To just breathe until I don’t have to

 

 

 

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About Runa

With words you can reveal, hide, confuse, clarify, rule, beg, love, hate. In speech words live momentarily and die with the moment. In writing, they are immortalised and in being unspoken and unwritten, they become omnipotent: God like. My words here could have remained unspoken. Could have. They're immortal and that's enough. View all posts by Runa

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