Silence
I speak and speak and speak and speak
Words roll off of my tongue
Spill out of my mouth
Dribble down my chin
In sequences
Rhythms
My heart beat calling.
Sideway glances
Heads cocked
Nothing.
Recently, one of my teachers was speaking
about a written assignment to me, criticizing the fact that my writing was very
“flowery” but lacked depth. This comment
really dug at me, as I’ve heard it before from other teachers . What a shame it
is to think that in all my attempts to communicate, all I produce is a
disorienting shower of purposeless words for the reader. Perhaps I took the criticism more deeply than
I should have, as I was brought to think of my own social encounters with
others, and how shallow and disconnected I feel they are. My heart can yearn
for some greater connection, but all my
efforts are ultimately in vain. This
poem is for all the poor souls lost in their silence; for all who cry for help,
but receive none.
In some ways, Tender Branson is
one of those poor souls. Helpless and
voiceless as a celebrity, he becomes the mouthpiece of a product his agent and
prep team attempt to sell and leach off of. But beneath the fake mask he has
been instructed to wear, underneath all the makeup and the graceful celebrity
presence he has been groomed to put on, lies the real Tender. A Tender few will
ever know.
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