Fickle Little Fugitives

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What makes my quaking voice different,

I can’t speak in front of people;

Rather, I choose to draw and paint and write,

Exactly how I feel.

 

The words, they escape me,

Unless I have a pen and paper;

Because articulating is so scary,

Yet, bold expression is so daring.

 

I’m talkative on paper,

I’m expressive with a brush;

Because words always seem to escape me,

In that moment I open my mouth.

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