Speaking With a Closed Mouth, et al

Speaking With a Closed Mouth

And so I plan to tell you how I feel,
In words that can not just roll

off the tongue
because every m o v e m e n t that I make
springs
your image forward into my mind.
How strong I grip that picture clears the color
from my knuckles, and yet I struggle to speak.

How to strike my vocal chords in just the right
note, singing the sweet melody of my
heart? I could not bear to give the key
to the deep oceans of dreams and thoughts
to you. Fear fills my veins that those eyes, bright
with life, can shut my heart out to the icy
dark winds. So tell me, how to confess, try
and fight this, when my heart is overweight?

Thinking Of You In a Car

You may not look this way, but I see your smile
through the mirror, the suns shines strong
and I realize I haven’t said I love you in a while.

My heart stores every brush in a file,
somehow misplaced and name tags wrong.
You may not look this way, but I see you smile.

I snatch the string of words that leave your mouth and pile
them into one misshapen, unidentified song,
and I realize I haven’t said I love you in a while.

To put it simply, my soul thrives in your body, a trial
and error system, just to see if it’s where I belong.
You may not look this way, but I see your smile.

You take my whole being of existence and style
it to fit the both of us, your plan to satisfy all along.
You may not look this way, but I see you smile
and I realize I haven’t said I love you in a while

The Stroke of a Pen

This is where we start,
at the top
optimal positioning
we drag the string down
black ink sinking deep
end the line at the edge.

(hopscotch over the spaces)

Begin the circle
next to our previous stroke
severe curves defined
empty in the middle
lethal in stance
bring the swoop back to point

(swing to the peak)

Stand at a high
create hard boundaries unlike “o”
slick slopes meet at a vertex
make it hard to climb
narrow the milky plains
end equally where we began.

(fly to the monkeybars)

Calm, simple, middle.
imitate the horizon
include the timid sunrise
soft curves reflected
similar to a “c”?
bring the moon under the sun.

(love, this is where we end)


Singing My Life With His Words

It’s like the radio picks up signals from my brain
Airing my thoughts, transmitting my words,
and I sing along to my favorite tune again.

I listen close, examining the lyrics that join
sweet and sour memories in one record.
It’s like the radio picks up signals from my brain.

The bass beat is addictive like nicotine.
I crave to hear my story, catching me off guard,
and I sing along to my favorite tune again.

The notes buzz in my ears while I strain
to destroy the bricks that make a sound proof board.
It’s like the radio picks up signals from by brain.

Mr. Songz must read a daily updated bulletin
of my every emotion while I tap the dashboard
and I sing along to my favorite tune again.

The speakers burst with my life and debris hits skin.
They may not know, while they sit in the Ford,
it’s like the radio picks up signals from my brain
and I sing along to my favorite tune again.

Olivia Wilson
Age 17, Grade 12
Berkeley Carroll School
Silver Key

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