Even -
your temper.
Bite down on your chewed tongue.
It should be easy by now.
Silence is second nature.
Losing is routine.
I am passive to survive.
Whatever I carelessly throw out -
is returned and doubled.
A small grumble,
a snapped retort,
a thoughtless roar.
Soon stretches out into a day of
grey skies and thunder -
dodging the lightning and praying for brief sun.
I am good at holding words.
Rolling them around until they taste right.
I can close my palms around all the ones I want to say -
and squeeze them lightly,
until they are subdued.
I am good at holding words.
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