I lean back in the passenger seat
And hope that the endless turns this car makes dare not expose my eyes to the sun’s glare
Outside, the trees don’t dance, neither do the people
Inside, our breaths are the only sound
Even the engine was born with silence
Much like me today
My lips remain sealed
My throat remains unvisited by words or hums
Only my shoulders respond- a half-arsed answer
When my mom asks me why I’m not playing music today.
I want to tell her that the earth’s abundance clogs my mind and my skin
My body responds with it’s own abundance of moisture
And thus my body burns
I was not designed to sweat
My fingers itch to trail the beads and trickles before they dry into salt
And the restraint against this requires my whole body and mind
Lest this flare blossoms into another puddle of grey-black mush on my skin.
I want to tell her that I cannot bear to hear anything
Not even my own voice
And I’d also prefer her silence and the absence of music
Because what to her ears would be a tango or a jive, to mine would be stomps and thunder
So I dare not burden my mind with more stimulation
But focus on wishing away the humidity.