You unintentionally taught me
to despise English;
every word reverberates from inside
pounds against my skull
seeps through the brain cells
that don’t ever return. It makes me feel.
When you’re talking to me, it makes me
Thus you instructed me
in the way of language loathing
when nothing can begin to encompass
within a letter
You taught me.
English is inadequate but
I don’t know enough
(of any other, either.)
I try to write my thoughts
That was always my “thing”
If I don’t have words, what have I?
“thoughts. feeling. the taste of rain.a hot lamp on your forehead”