words was shut off from me

they can be so

for tongues not ready

to create

or hold them.

and what a gift that is-

that which might seek to hold you hard.

accountable to it. 

words is weapons.


i’ve been a marksman-

surveyed and hunted many. 

but i found they make stronger tools

in for my garden.

so i speak to the flowers i got

and whisper to the succulents.

i get close because sometimes they hard of hearing 

an’ we tell each other stories

an’ scheme on how to make tea that taste like candy from roots.

an’ we make promises in moonlight


if this be a garden, then let it grow out strong

with deep roots

and greener greens cause i need to remember things.

purple mysteries and little confusion other than what we find to be a decent amount. 

an’ benches for fatigue, hair braiding, and small talk.

if this gonna be a garden then let’s make it some place we like to sit. 

i hoped those words might bring just as much to it as any water would. 

an’ somedays when i listen real close-

and look even closer

i can hear them all, the plants and such, singing-

above and under ground.

they help me remember what language i speak

an’ i find words that was lost. 


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