MUTE

I thought it was good that you were a 

man of words that is few.

When you’d look at me and say things

as minut as you could.

Like your throat would hurt if you say 

more and your head would ache

if you let out more.

All of these I understood and I never 

pushed beyond what I knew.

But I desired that you’d love me 

that way that I crave, like saying 

words that contains my name and 

making head spin in a way that is sane.

I wanted to hear you more often, 

it would have been easier to love you.

I thought it was hard enough 

until you began hiding all that came.

So, it wasn’t that you were a man 

of few words, it was that you 

didn’t know how to act in other 

ways than to be a snake.

Your silence was many things, 

so now I understand why to 

never love a man who never 

tells you all of his names.

You kept your ways, the success 

we ought to celebrate. 

You kept the compliments and 

remarks you could have gave me.

You made me somewhat in sane. 

Your silence drove close to the grave.

My friends said it was manly of you, 

now that I think of it, 

they were probably insane.

Who takes such a low standard of love. 

A man who speaks as though he is in chains.

I know of what a man should 

consist and how he should be 

to maintain his steeze.

What you did and what you were 

were nothing sane. You were 

just purely crazy and didn’t want to stay.

Why didn’t you tell me of things 

that were new? Or call me names that were good?

Why were you mostly quiet 

even about plans and changes that you made?

You have selective muteness and 

I had seen that on the day you had your friends over.

Your voice almost brought the roof down.

It wasn’t that you were incapable 

of speaking, it was that you considered

me not worth your words and when I put together everything including my thoughts and actions done.

I realized it was my fault!

You hated me and couldn’t tell it to my face, 

you kept the important part of 

your life from me to prevent 

bonds from being made.

That was your way of putting in boundaries.

You hated calling my names because 

they didn’t fit in your lips. 

And whenever you say babe, 

it came out like you ate bitter leaves.

You are just another time out to waste 

and I hate it for myself again.

What a life!