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it lives in my throat.

my tears, my laughter: 

in my throat.

hey, that's kinda interesting;

that's where my words are.

that's where my breath is.

that's where my life...

 

i come from my throat.

that's where i find my voice.

that's where i find my passion.

my throat is what i stroke with anxious fingers when i am afraid

when i am nervous

when i am sad.

it all comes back to my throat.

 

funny, that's where i get sick, too.

or at least, that's where the sickness starts

or where it ends

with fire in my throat and silence in my mouth.

it all comes back to the hroat.

 

my throat is where my voice is 

and

who would i be if i could not sing?

 

perhaps that is why i fear suffocation.

 

when i cried my father came upstairs and said,

at first i thought you were laughing.

and when i laughed myself breathless, i thought,

it sounds like i'm crying.

perhaps it is because they came from the same place.

perhaps it is because they really are the same.

 

in a crowd of the grieving, a laugh is like a breath.

it ripples through the crowd like a moment of relief.

it is hysterical and tear-filled.

it comes from the throat.

 

perhaps emotion lives not in the heart, but in the lungs.

in the throat.

for, after all,

who would we be without our voices?

 

A/N: I have no clue what this is.

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11 hours ago, thepensword said:

perhaps emotion lives not in the heart, but in the lungs.

Well idk but my lungs are screaming holy shit on a loop bc of this poem I mean even if you don’t know what it means holy shit I love this

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