You want to know what makes me tick?

The way the words flow from my fingertips, but stop just short of my lips.

 

I am fierce

I am a thunderstorm of emotion, a swirling complex of a generation of speakers

But

But not out loud, never out loud

A ringing phone scares me, never mind answering the door

Standing in front of class is a nightmare of garbled, jumbled words

 

They are not words

These stuttered sounds

Syllables, letters

consonants

vowels

Fucked up and twisted

 

I shake when I talk

My head spins, breath falling short

 

I can write.

I can speak with a keyboard, with a pen

Like I can’t outloud.

On the best days, on the very best days I am Patrick Henry with a pen

I am Winston Churchill, Demosthenes, Pericles, JFK

Give me a pen, and I will write you a thousand words

 

But not out loud, never out loud

Can’t even say one