Poetry 1 min

Stuck Up

Tonic Murphy Blanchard

Silence is a comfort,

Caressing dry lips-

And it is the aching thoughts

That break out through a smile

One nod

Shake

Or anything at all.

Just not speech,

For silence is a comfort.

In private I begin to speak,

But I'm the frozen deer-

The crowds shine their headlights

And I brace for impact.

I'm quiet

Shy

Just anything but loud

For privacy's my comfort.

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