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Some people…

carry butter on their tongue

always soft

always salty

like they’ve swallowed

the entire ocean…

and filtered its salt

and kept some of it

right here

to sprinkle

into conversations

that feel… bland

And me?

Sometimes…

I slip

on the butter

they spread

along my way

But still

I stand

I stand back on my feet

trying to understand

what do they want from me

Because I can’t complain

about the smell

I can’t speak back

in my own way

The spread becomes so thick…

so strong…

that even resistance

starts to melt

and somehow…

it softens

the soul