Speak

I'm not exactly the one to talk. Ask me to speak and I will stutter. But it's not just that. I'm scared. I'm scared that when I speak, the words that come out of my mouth will shatter, just like the dreams that shatter my sleep. I'm scared that when I speak, my story won't be as good as the ones I read in books or watch in movies. I'm scared that when I speak, my words will be just letters written out on a page and nothing more. I'm scared that the words I say will not sound like a melody or a song I sing. And that is exactly why I do speak. For these words would mean nothing if kept hidden in my unquiet mind. That these words are more than just something that sits in the sky but have meaning. Meaning that someday, these words I say will be remembered. I am more than just a sad story. I am more than the words I cannot say and the sadness I have felt and the doctors I have seen and the insults and the mess that floods my mind. I am me. And no amount of words can define that.