You forgive everything you understand.
I understand nothing and something. 
Is it easy to speak staccato. 
Ripping off your tongue in intervals. 
As you stare at all the metal and think. 
How your stomach feels like buttons;
each one wrong. You dial the elevator 
like a number. Old number, not wrong number. 
I thought god would pick up, and I’d tell. 
How I uncapitalise the G and often 
spell it backwards. Nobody here to hear. 
My greatest acts of defiance are always words. 
I am afraid of your name. How my mouth 
writes it. Like a flower tucked into silk. 
How needle like my voice is as it pulls 
at my throat. I could never sew the silence. 
Only unravel it, tugging at every clink in the air. 
I want to call the elevator a shrine. 
You would call it a brothel if you saw me here. 
Your greatest acts of delusions are always words. 
I forgive everything I understand.

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