Female

Certain words hit me in funny ways
that stick
and I repeat them over and over,
silently moving my lips
and feeling my tongue push against my teeth.
Incarceration.
Linger.
Language.
Lengua.
I get stuck on L’s, sometimes.
Other times it’s the hard C sound that gets me:
Cocoa.
Cloaca (another L).
Constrict.

I think sometimes
maybe
it’s the ownership I get,
that by constant repetition they become mine,
or my mouth or my vocal chords
become more mine
by this constant, conscious usage.

Ownership of body is hard to find
when wearing a dress to
well,
anywhere really
any time of day
skirt of any length
sleeves or not,
bare legs or in tights
and there’s something about just looking nice that means
too solicitous door-holding
free drinks when I don’t want them
hands on my shoulder, my cheek, my thigh, my knee (if seated)
my back
my waist
my ass.

We have words for a reason:
nuanced communication that means
culture
society
philosophy
poetry
all possible.

Not really used.

“Hey baby, can I get a little kiss?”
(or worse)
shouted on the street?

Doesn’t count.

I find my lips moving
Shaping soundless words:
No.
Please don’t.
Stop.
Leave me alone.

No one ever hears, of course,
and I know that even if I raised my voice,
no one would ever listen.

Written by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless.wordpress.com.