old oceans




silver platters weren't meant for words.
so I learned never to speak of wisdom in heartbeats.
because murmurs spit toe lines.
and I can't tap dance on whispered thoughts.
drinking in offbeat patterns to a tune of a peace.
when i can't drink from this tide-
for fear of the salt water hitting the cuts on my tongue.
from when I chose to speak of heartache in wisdom.
while my hands are rough. and I think of
when money can't buy back the sleepless nights.
and the days I've just wasted on
opening my eyes- but not living.

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