what I'm willing to speak about.
how does that start, the embarrassment of it?
thoughts that surface as words in mind-sentences
as the result of inward images crashing into emotions
and some how safety in resulting words that gather.
crowded within, with words that cluster-urge,
where the only retrieval as release is to speak out.
spoken as if feedback, even to myself
but outwardly overheard.
words, now properly dressed as heard out-loud
is this talking to myself in front of an audience,
disguised as if intended conversational?
but really not the same
as intentionally talking to myself.
am I now an unrevealed third party
to what was said,
pretending to have an inward competence
thus shared?
this is a mild calamity
complete with gestures and warming.
this is like an unexpected sneeze in a public setting
with kleenex in hand,
covering up thoughts with gestures,
guarding against these emotions
that come with bullhorns.
I feel like the M.C. at a special
yet occasional self-event.
the topic at hand seems so situationally out of place.
I try to conversationally excuse myself
without saying that.
like, "what I just said, you only overheard in passing
as there was a third party of interest listening
but now gone".
so where were we before this all happened to us?
ah yes, I was silently in my head
and you were casually just a passerby . . .
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