Without Censorship

There is so much within her, she deems unspeakable.
A restlessness, long muted,
vibrating undercurrents beneath her skin.
You feel it too, don’t you?
A razor-sharp blade sliding across your insides,
like a silent threat waiting to cut open,
tear membranes, and spill out all you hold within.
All my unsaid tickles my anxiety, it does,
like soft feathers pulsating at the edges underneath the surface.
And this is how words denied air,
weighty yet bubbling to the surface every chance they get.

She can hear them whispering,
humming a soft song of longing in her ears.
Notes seeking companions in relief and release.
Wouldn’t we welcome such music at all?