Speaking subtle lies and myths with a
slipping of my lisp;
these words
slide off the tongue
like sipping slews of scotch and Smirnoff.
But constant non-stop pronouncing of sounds as though
I always
trip my lips
and
spill my semantics
with a twisted lisp speaking myths,
as if
slipping sliding and then slamming to a stop.

So,
I turn to writing to denote my feeling of
unmatched heroic action.
Protecting my poem from the
dastardly forces of sliding words and multiple syllables.
Annihilating my enemy-
My weapon?
My pen-
with which imagination can run wild
like my life became normal,
instead of slipping sliding and then slamming to a stop
on a word with a letter my
sluggish suffering lips
must transport to the stencil
to make my meaning clear.

But here: my world.
A world of word,
but plural,
to perform a perfect poem
Like a light will never flicker,
a mic will never feedback,
and people applaud my reading ignoring a
slipped up lisp or speech impediment.

Susceptible to starry skies pretty girls blistering mood swings;
my fear is not the stage,
nor the crowd,
nor the poem,
nor the judgment,
nor the results,
it’s what will happen when I say
“results.”
All because my
susceptible lips slipped up on my lisp.

But I do not cut a wrist
hoping to arrest
my fear
that a lisp will get me caught and bottled up
in lost translation.
I cut the paper with a pen,
engraving a meaning minus my
L-I-S-P,
so no one can hear me
slipping sliding and then slamming to a stop.