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,


I bumble I fumble

control crumbling till I–


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 




My pen doesn’t mumble.

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