Speak

I—I—I could—I—I could—could—I—I—I could barely speak.

ice—ice for hands. shiver.

Knotted—knotted ropes for a tongue, not hopes

but fears clogging—clogging, clogging my lungs.

ice, isolated. Hands shiver

to the beat of my palpitating chest,

but fears clog, clog, clog my lungs:

I prefer ink to soundwaves,

except to beat my palpitating chest

when courage strikes lightning through

inklings of soundwaves,

splicing my stumbles.

When courage strikes lightning,

it dances in my throat,

splices my stumbles,

amplifies my story, my sound, my

dance. My throat

leaps from my neck to

amplify this story, this sound. This

is my power. On the page, it

leaps from my head. This

knot turns to fire for a tongue.

It’s my power. On the page, this

is how I speak.