“If You Stop Me from Speaking”
If you stop me from speaking,
my words do not die.
They retreat—
sharpened in shadow,
breathing in silence,
becoming knives.
I do not whisper for your comfort.
I was not born to be soft in the throat
while my thoughts choke
on polite expectation.
Hold my tongue,
and it will grow teeth.
Bind my voice,
and it will learn to bite.
What you bury
learns to bloom
with roots like blades.
If you stop me from speaking,
you do not win.
You build a chamber
where every syllable
reloads
like a shotgun.
And when it fires—
know this:
you taught it how.