I want men who refuse to speak.
They shut down and disappear,
run from me or the problem
or something I can’t seem to see.

Every one
stares blank-faced,
and keeps his lips clamped tight,
his brain behind countless locks,
and I never seem to have the key.

Maybe it’s because
I have too many words,
too many thoughts,
that I drown them in language,
suffocate them in so many syllables
that they disappear
behind my waves,
my incessant talk.

But even in my own dark silence,
they refuse.

Their own quiet
supercedes my own,
and I end up staring
at blank screens
filled with all the words
they refuse to say
pushed against all the ones
I can’t keep inside.



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