My thoughts are there.
They demand to be said.
So I open my mouth to speak–
I squeak.
As they slip
past my tongue
where they jumble.
I stumble.
over one,
word into another.
Again and,
again,
I bumble I fumble
control crumbling till I–
tumble.
I swear it was there in my head.
So I write the words instead.
Pressing them out through my pen.
They don’t slip
or slide
They don’t jumble,
They glide.
I don’t fumble
or stumble
if I tumble–
I fly.
While my tongue only trips,
My pen can dance,
or dream.
My pen can
Scorn,
Scold,
Scream.
My pen doesn’t mumble.