When I open up my mouth to speak,

the words erupt in stutter,

I swallow down the lump that’s there,

my mind’s constant clutter.

If there was but one word I could say

to tell you how I feel,

It would be but in my dreams,

for I could never manage the real deal.

And one day, when I part my lips,

I know you’ll patiently lend an ear,

And wait with such anticipation,

of what you long to hear.

Yet there it is, caught in my throat,

the suffocating tongue that keeps my words inside,

but in my head, if that alone, I know the words are mine.

Until the day they dribble out,

the words that are just right,

I’ll write them down, lock them up, keep them far from sight.

© Hannah Truelove

2 thoughts on “Words”

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