the words I kept

𝑽𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒐

Sometimes my mouth betrays me.

My tongue, a serpent, coils and weaves,
words splinter like ancient bark from trees.
In my quest to soothe with breath,
I ignite a forest of wounds unsaid.
At dawn, a fragile bird takes flight,
yet I remain the cage, wild with plight,
fluttering softly in a world of gray,
where misunderstandings dance, lead me astray.

"Who are you?"
my mirror whispers low—
the answer, a tempest, a quiet storm's flow.
Complex, a storm in stillness,
I wear my mask, a shadow's disguise,
louder than the storm where the heart resides.
Between thought and utterance, a chasm grows;
I grasp the splintered bridge of fragile strings,
only to watch it snap and decompose.

Yet still, in ruin, a seedling sways,
a wild thing rooted in broken days,
turning its leaves toward the unseen blaze.

Beneath broken bridges and shattered skies,
I do not kneel—
I rise, unbroken,
like the storm I've kept inside.

🌦 

 - Unspoken Storm 

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