The Will To Speak

There is one thing I want in this life.

One thing I yearn for,

One thing I long for, 

I want the will to speak.

This one thing is an ache 

I have harbored since a child.

I want to be able to part my lips

Without my heart racing.

I want to be able to utter a sentence

Without my palms sweating.

I want to be able raise my volume slightly

Without my stomach sinking.

I want  to open my mouth form the words 

That have been rusting within the caverns of my mind.

Bring my voice out of that soft childish whisper 

And let it ring out strong clear and unwavering.

But as soon as my mouth opens

The hand of silence dives in, 

It jams its large knuckles down my throat,

Its nails scraping against my insides,

As I stand there choking.

It reaches in me groping aimlessly around 

The darkness of my innards.

While I stand there

pathetically stuttering,

It grabs my vocal cords in its vice grip 

and tears them from me.

It takes my tongue 

And glues it to the top my my mouth.

It leaves me there raw and bleeding,

I stand there looking like a fool.

Wide eyed.

I can feel the panic flood in,

coursing through my veins.

Filling me up to the brim,

threatening to overspill.

Threatening to snap me in half.

I want to speak,

I’d kill to be heard,

But when you’ve learned from a young age

to be quiet,

to be silent.

When you’ve been taught

that nothing you say matters,

the words stop working.

Your voice rusts in your throat

and dies out.