a child realizing their own voice
As if hearing it for the first time
I type just by speaking
Adjusting to the thought
And the sight of it
For now the voices, the words
Are more than colors
Swirling and dancing behind my eyes
Waiting for them to descend to my fingertips
I look at my nail beds
Anticipating the greens of foliage and coral reefs
vaporizing
As they are not being placed on paper by pencil, pen or paint
The page appears black and white
Almost stagnant
As there is no mist
I will have to learn
How to bring color my voice
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