Whispers

They whispered to me
As a child in dreams
Or over simplistic meals
They repeated in screams
The things I cannot unlearn

And it burned my ears
What I learned by rote
I don’t scream. I don’t sing,
But I learned every note:
All things are being shattered

At once or in slow-motion
It’s hard to build on bits of glass
To look at the things you can’t take back
And build anyway- it’s crass
But I tried.

I haven’t cried in years
Because grief gives way
To acceptance, I guess
What is left to say?
To unbreak a broken thing
Takes more than an ability

To cry, or scream, or sing.

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