Grey Talker

I type with fingers that shook
I kiss the words and bring them to exist,
To which, sentences leave leisurely leaking  from my lips,

Thereafter, I try to make amends with a sloppy ‘I’m sorry’ kiss

I’m a grey talker, my words leave my mouth clean, but my tongue it fights like a fickle man fists
It takes you out cold,
And I fold,
And I know
How much that weighs
How much it aches

I ached
I have nothing but time, and age
And I must refrain, from speaking
So I write, write to you, all my unfiltered gems
Child-like I tough at my mothers hem
I pipe up saying
Any advice for a ten pence?
I’ve not deep pockets
I’ve only a tendency to place my wet fingers in sockets
Can you help me find the words I left floating?
Perhaps when I find them I could eat them in slow motion
I won’t mind the chocking,
I would eat them raw
And let them take me, some place, any place away from this Indian Ocean shore
Just so you can live in peace,
A life without my grey words causing you grief

– Written by Aisha Mohammed  *AISHA MD*

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