Aayushi

Tongue trips my words.

Brain reconsiders the words after they fall.

Sound pulls them back to the depths, and they are not heard.

The words I wanted to speak worked hard to get to the tip of my tongue.

They tip-toed around dangers, cautions, molding themselves,

trying to fit through crevasses,

through the warnings provided by my brain.

Warnings weren't enough.

Warnings couldn't erase themselves.

They were shaped by my brain to be as perfect as possible,

but were second-guessed.

Second-guessed and pulled away.

They aren't good enough.

They aren't good enough.

They never will be.