day fifteen

I Speak
I cannot open my mouth
or all the words will spill out.
I bite my lip to keep the cries inside,
the images shouting at me to speak.

One day I am young,
then so old the next.

Clothes made the year I was born
are back in vogue and worn
by the girls walking by me - unaware
that I want to know - to see - to speak.

One day I am young,
then so old the next.

She sighs throughout the day,
not living, just regretting the way
she fails to live, wasting another hour
in the sarcasm and bitterness she speaks.

One day I am young,
then so old the next.

I sit, crouched like a tiger in a tree,
waiting for theology to walk under me,
something I can sink my teeth into
or at least something I'm not afraid to speak.