I don’t know
how old I was
when my lips
were sewn together,
but the stitches
were sharp twine
and sunk deep.

Silence was
the only place
I felt safe.
The stories
of my life
ran through my
mind more real
than the turn of days.

I wrote the words
I could never say.

Sometimes writing
is the only way to
cut the thread that seals,
release the words,
let the mind know peace.

I still have
the scars around
my lips. I still find
home in silence.