Learn more about other poetry terms
All eyes on me Watch me stutter, watch me slip Watch me crumble at the pressure Laugh and applaud I craft masks and write acts
When I was 4, I spoke with a stutter. My parents were concerned- I, I, I, didn't know I spoke the way I did. When I, I, I, was 8, my stutter went away. No, it did not vanish, it made a home in my brain.
My own words have been stuck Between esophagus and windpipe too many times before Leading to glassed over eyes and lost attentions You have to understand these knots of fragmented declarations choke me.
I am simply me Nothing more nothing less Do I speak differently Why yes The shaking you hear is not my choice Scared that the next word I say will not come out
The power of words is not all I have- I could beat the living shit out of you, after all I worked with horses and bullies and fear- but my feelings always get in the way there. How would your parents feel?
You are my goosebumps coming to life, The hair on the back of my neck that stands on end. You are the lump in my throat, The tightness in my chest and the butterflies in my stomach. You are my chapped lips,
I write because my pen doesn't stutter like my lips do. I write because it is easier for my to convey feelings. I write because I can touch a person's heart through written words. I write because