I know a language,
One birthed in suffering,
The language of pain,
The language of scars,
Stories that are told without words,
Like a diamond,
They are created under extreme pressure,
Pushing, pushing harder and harder,
Strengthening so it will not break,
What does not kill, afterall,
Makes us stronger.

I know a language,
Spoken in tears,
It is loudest in the silence,
It whispers a scream,
And the untrained ear,
One that is not attunded to hear,
Will not hear the cries of the broken.
They do not speak aloud,
For fear that they will not be heard,
Adapting to the language,
Talking only to one another.

I know a language,
It seems to be my native tongue,
And no translator does it justice,
For the words of anguish are pure,
It is a language that tells no lies,
While orally lies are most of what they speak,
To those who know it not,
And in the dark,
And in the silentest hour,
They speak, they scream,
And I know the language..