I am what makes dirt wet

And when I was 20 I finally learned to
spit in the dirt.
To make mud of the excess disgust
built up in my mouth
tucked behind teeth next to the
words I wish I’d screamed.
It wasn’t until 22 that I learned to scream
the words when they came up at all.
I live ugly now,
live honestly,
not with pride
just a heavier boot.
And this I remember
when my spit claps to the earth
and I am just slightly lighter with less
things inhabiting my tongue
not again.
Taste dirt.
Taste dirt.
I say.
Taste dirt.
Not me.
I will not
be the dirt
and I will not be the mouth to be used.

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