“When she speaks, she speaks with intelligence”

oh thats strange, I am not intelligent 

I tend to let everything flow 

slowly, around my timid, lonely figure

Without any doubt, reason, or curiosity 

I am nothing great

“When she speaks, she speaks with intelligence”

I let others say what they want to say

speaking more than I could ever muster any courage to do

I am afraid after all-

my voice just isn’t meant to be heard

“When she speaks, she speaks with intelligence”

I-I sometimes speak too much 

And then some venom seeps out

unintentionally

-i believe it is, so please believe me too

So why would I be intelligent? 

If I don’t have control of my mouth,

then I am idiotic to access any intelligence

“When she speaks, she speaks with intelligence”

I am weak 

and absurd 

so why does it apply to me?

how can I ever be known as intelligent?

“When she speaks, she speaks with intelligence”

It has been days, weeks, months 

since this has been said about me 

I still ponder about it, for hours

Crying, or laughing

I may not have been able to conclude with it 

but I do know one thing 

slowly, I am believing 

slowly, like the flow of everything that goes my way

I notice more,  I think more

I realize more; I am curious after all. 

“When she speaks, she speaks with intelligence”