My Voice

At what point

In the experience that life comprises

Can one definitively state

I found my voice/I have no voice

And what meaning would that statement

Ultimately have on anything at all 

Oh fruitless questions 

How I loathe thee


I’ll just pick up a honey colored  apple

Strip away its skin

Slurp it’s juices as I rend flesh with fingernails and teeth 

Spitting out seeds onto concrete

Dismantling the thing

Making ugly what once was beautiful 

In search of core meaning that changes nothing 

But adds the idea of flavor

Because the flavor of truth wasn’t enough

My malleable and manipulative mind

Cannot see the mechanical absolute 

That supposedly exists

So for now

I’ll say

My voice seems best silent


And my heart will fill the void


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