I have a nervous tongue,
but a steady hand.
I lack eloquence in speech,
but I can put down, in writing,
a pretty good sentence.
Words jumble and tumble from my mouth,
jostling one another to get free—
running, then stumbling over my lips.
As thoughts pile up in my head,
words fight each other for proper order;
struggling at the tip of my tongue,
pushing and shoving,
lunging then leaping out the door.
I hear their chaos
as they echo in my ears,
and I wonder,
“Do you understand me?”
“I’m not sure I just did.”
You nod and smile politely.
And I think again,
“If only I could have written to you instead.”