They speak—
patient ears are what I gift.
They speak—
warmth of my tears they yield.
When I do the same—
deafening noise roared the room.
When again I speak—
laughter dulled my rosy cheeks.

I speak
but they would not hear,
therefore I write.

I write—
what do I receive?
Sharp bat of lashes toward my ink,
brows stressed upward upon my sheet,
some even worse
not glancing my way at all
as if to say I’ve got a flu,
“seek the doctor’s call!”

I look up and see a bait they throw
rushing down
caging my leaping soul.
Perhaps all these ’cause
I’m Emily.
And Emily’s main chore is
comfort Henry.

I bet my life
if I changed my name
into William
and hid my leaping soul
under a chiseled torso—
the same roar of noise, laughter,
batting lashes and brows
will halt their whereabouts
just to plaud
what William has to say.


Author: Danica Aquino

Tied the knot with performing arts since fourth grade; is an amateur writer (currently on her quest to writing her first novel); book and animal lover; always entranced by nature.

Have something to say? Please leave your comment below:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s