loose

 

finally now when tired

, my words pick up pace and

my whispers thicken into the

accent of

one whose heard others speaking with it all

her life , and-

rarely did herself

, unable to

face the glorious ease in

letting go of

denying myself.

playing the largest part

in this was my inability to

disclose: for the

situations never deem appropriate, and

I being always stiff , every time

like nails stuck in an old board,

so quickly felt the difference

between sitting

and standing, bent

knees. change of

position a rare

glimpse of comfort, so

valuable.

but here I am

, so snug

where my lips easily sink to

homes’ tongue, my words thicken

back into unguarded, grateful

safety.

here it is lovely.

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