Un-say.

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I am so tired
that my breath drips
instead of flows
like a leaky faucet
the words intended
to be thought spew
verbal garbage.

I am reminded
of lessons my parents
hammered
into my head.

I was not
a verbose child
and am still not
a verbose person,
except when
my filter shuts off
and my brain, dead
says, go ahead.

Some things don’t need to be said.