There is a hand over my mouth. Sometimes it is my hand sometimes it is his. I know when it is his because it is so large it smothers my face so I can hardly breath. When it is my hand I'm afraid to remove it, for if I do it will all pour out. The things I know, I've seen that fill my mouth and choke me. They would spill out all over the table and into your laps. And when would it stop, or would it ever stop. So I keep my hand over my mouth. My voice found itself in painting but they told me what I said was wrong, that I wasn't saying it how I should. I tried to do it, to paint that way but that voice inside began to scream, so I tore up my paintings and put my hand over my mouth.
Reason for writing:
I just wanted to say it, try a new voice
Birth sign: Not entered
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