LYRIC FOR SALE

By LMR

I am not made of stone, I am flesh and bone.
I don't think I'm reaching when you bring out the guillotine
to say it's more painful to spew a cruel mouthful.

To say words have power is understating at best—
they splinter through silence, leave messes in chests,
Turn rooms into battlegrounds, eyes into wells,
And breath into blades we learn to inhale.

You spoke like a storm and I wore it like skin.
Still smiling, still nodding but caving within.
You never looked back, never saw what you broke
The fault lines you carved with each careless joke.

And I, I became quieter, trying to unfeel
Tried to bleach out your voice
To convince it wasn’t real
.
But healing, it whispers softly, not grand.
It begins just by holding your own trembling hand.

With writing the truth when no one's around,
and digging up worth buried deep underground.

Now I speak gentler, to myself most of all.
And I build from the rubble instead of the fall.

Your words may have cut me, but I choose the seam.
I’m stitching with poems and daring to dream
In the echo of cruelty I still get to define
What words in my heart are threaded through mine.