bus ride I

they sound so uncomfortable leaving your mouth, those words.
they sound so uncomfortable.
a little naked, perhaps.  a little empty.
like maybe that wasn't all of what you wanted to say.
maybe your single statements were parts of the biggest families of abusive parents.
maybe they were the oldest, the first one born into your body of thought.
maybe they ran away, too distracted by the optimism of free limbs-
                       maybe your dream children keep on getting pushed into dream jails or something.
they must be mourning their younger siblings. 
what dark corners are they hiding in?
how small have they shrunk themselves?
will freedom ever tempt their feet in the same way?
will they experience the ehiliration of letting your stiff spine unravel, like a scroll, for the first time,
before like animals, the next catch, they are netted?
have they heard about their older, braver brothers?
of the fate that is surely growling right outside of your lips, their window?
was freedom too tempting?
did they think they could escape the beast if only they made themselves as frail
as a whisper?
they sound so uncomfortable leaving your mouth, those words. 
young children, tricking themselves into thinking monsters don't exist,
when you can hear them right outside your window.