she asked me

whether it was right

"I don't know,

is anything?"

her face broke out into

one of those carefree smiles

"are you playing

another one of those word-games?"

"you're good with words,

you know?

they kinda… flow out of your mouth

– just like that"

I grinned, my braced teeth

glinting in the sunlight,

tinted by the patches of

fluoride-white calcium

you're pure,

not like me

was what my brain was telling me to say

but the stupid walls of my windpipe closed up just then

until what came out

was a nervous outbreak

of the hee-haw sounds

that are my laughter

that's why I write,

to say the things I never got to say

the things that never managed to

escape from the barriers of my clumsy mouth

but I pray

that she will never

see my poems

because the word-games

wouldn't be games anymore.