Poeticendeavor Stories

My tongue's composed of shattered pieces, every piece screaming for justice. It was chopped and cooked, ready to be served as a meal to cruelty. No one planned to have it eaten, but one sews its pieces together. Blood that drips from my chopped tongue, reaches for my knees to push them to kneel. Until I could hear nothing, but my pleas to be broken again than be whole. For my tongue being whole again, means it is forced to adapt to a new language. Slowly becoming fluent, the fear began to sharpen my breaths. For unheard pleas and silent screams, are the language of a chopped tongue. ___ A collection of prose and poetry.