The tongue is the organ of taste, and also the organ of speech, said John O'Donohue.
What is the flavor of the words we don't say?
What is the taste of repression?
What is the sensation of freedom of tongue?
I've watched a thousand butterflies explode
from the back of my throat
out the tips of my teeth
into the quilt of sky and trees
I've felt the gong inside my lungs
the gong of emptiness
the gong of emptied-it-all-out
the rippling quiet joy
And I've tasted the hunger of holding back
the withheld lion claws
waiting for some antelope to surrender
feed my hallow courage
I've learned there are no martyrs in nature
Who would sacrifice its life, to feed my fear?
I must hunger for the taste of my own depths
I must hunt myself down
Puncture my silence
Bleed
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