Yes, I’m a dumb one, you’d never notice me in a gathering or a crowd. At parties I’m no fun, I sometimes forget to tell my jokes out loud. I weigh letters on the tip of my tongue, then swallow them down. Piece them back together in my left lung, for my right is already filled with melodies unsung.
What if my thoughts escaped, before they were fully shaped? I speak with small gestures, too often I frown. I don’t bite my cheek because I’m eager to speak.
I’m not dumb for handling my words with care, not wanting any sharp edges to cut. I taste them before I let them leave my mouth, not being too generous with the thoughts I share.
Why I’m so damn melancholic, too downcast? I model myself to be your contrast. Alcohol would loosen me up, but since you’re an alcoholic, I’m an abstainer. Why? It’s a no-brainer: I don’t drink alcohol because I don’t like to lost control.
You take me for a fool, but I’m not the