from a couch. 

she was trying to sell the last one. though sitting there desperate it was tough. it didn’t matter as she packed up, at least there was something for her to carry, it gave her arms purpose and kept others believing she was headed somewhere though to her it was the same there that she has walked to since losing her sense of self while she sat in high school seats, desks too small where no one noticed that black bic scrawl saying help me before i fall, head down, suffocated screams in daydreams

this wasn’t where the inability to spread her lips started

it was the walls of a birth canal coming from emotions too small

she couldn’t swim and when the light got dim she went mute no one could dispute 

her house never laughed about a toot 

they were too busy picking up shit and to quit in the day to sink and sway away to a place where side eyed visions lay didn’t happen in the usual way it was ducking and dodging the verbal assaults carrying a barrage of faults, insults and turn abouts that were never fair play.

she recorded the sounds of her past alone in a room and wants to share them with you. 

a stolen unmoving voice, finally consistent and predictable. 

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