by Becca White

Words like to crumble and fade when I speak,
clash like a stumbling parade when I speak.

Each little utterance quavers with fear,
of the next sound to be made when I speak.

As the words edge past my lips, feel them shake,
knowing a price must be paid when I speak.

Secrets have slipped off my tongue, haunting me;
friends might be lost and betrayed when I speak.

Ears: They will judge me, and even by one,
stuttering word they are swayed when I s-speak.

When I say nothing, my mind is composed.
But all ideas become frayed. When. I. Speak.

I hear the world, but they can’t hear me,
waging an inner crusade when I speak!

Let them dub me the quiet one for now.
Someday they’ll hear words cascade when I speak.