There are words to pick up.

There are words to pick up
stuck to the cement
she grabs a few
placing them within her pocket
the words twist and tare through the shirt
straight through the navel
making their way through
she lets out a wince
as the words cultivate
searching as they swim upward
where is the boss of this place
they search
tunneling themselves up the spinal cord
the signal stronger
they wedge themselves within her mind
she squints and places a hand upon her forehead
migraine triggered
she’s determined not to give into this one
the new words
mixes with thousands of others
banishing certain thoughts
recreating new wavelengths
and she feels uncertain again
which truth shall she listen to?
are any of them ever the truth?
are we incapable of the truth?
even when we are being honest?
do we even know the truth?
are truths derivative upon opinion
turning them false?
does she give into this one?
or does she shred the words within her mind
and carry on within her own truths?
are they any less than the others?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina