My Ink

Ink?
Ink is but
A figment of
Endless creativity
Through my ruined words—

And my saliva?
It ferments
And waits to strike
Not now
But later
When they’re going to laugh

If I f*** up.
Again.
Not even the Elizabeth
Of speech counselors
Will stop them
Sticks and stones, Andrew

And the men
With white coats
And coloring books
Told the whole world
It was lips
Not brain

They should have
Stapled it on my forehead
Tattooed it on my face
Like I was some Jew
With chemical wonders
Burning his eyes

I wish I were that child
Again. It was cute.
The parents wished
Their kids
Couldn’t finish
Kindergarten sounds. Not

Just words.
But sounds.
Sounds.
Andrew.
Nope.
Can’t.

And my lips,
They’ve run dry
They’re cracked like
Hungry Sahara
A canyon
Fallen into

Oblivion. And so,
They spectate
Back row
The shadow section
Saliva ferments
One day, though.
One day ink
Is going to laugh right back
But I
I…
I won’t.
I’ll be quiet.