Silent All These Years

Words fail me.

When I want them, they won’t come.

Or they sputter, spewing with ineptitude on my audience.

When they do come, they are rarely cohesive,

Constructive,

Thought out, considered.

My foot has never tasted good, but I persist.

In it goes.

As I chew, I flagellate.

Condemn,

Punish.

I can see them- my words.

They look exultant from afar.

If only they would show up when I need them.

If only they were on my side.

awkward
(image: pinterest)

 

 

 

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