It is one of those days
when the internet feels
like a miracle
instead of a disease.
Alone, with the whirring
of the fan and the slow ache
of my spine as it bends over
in this rust-coloured chair,
I wish desperately
that my tongue
could have
the magic
of
Nayyirah Waheed
Warsan Shire
Shinji Moon
Fatima Asghar
Yrsa Daley-Ward
Tishani Doshi
but my tongue
insistently refuses;
at least it lets me
taste the magic of
another's words,
of feeling like
I exist, after days
of hiding in, of
music that sounds
like a celebration,
of giggles under
my breath and joy
that grazes over
like a feather.
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