Picture my mouth
as a zipper,
one that you open
and close
whenever you like. 

If I talk too much
you slide that cold
metal across my lips
and force me
to be silent

if I talk too little
you push words
inside my wet
cave of a mouth. 

I rip the zipper
from my face
and create
a gaping black hole

You say I’m wild,
out of place,
and stitch
my lips back
together

only to pluck
away each red
thread when you
want me to say
yes, I agree.