My Words
Why can’t I just confess?
The words stand on the tip of my tongue
like divers ready to slip into the waters of your mind.
But when I move to release them,
they slide silently back down my throat
to burn and stew inside my chest.
I can no more force them out
than learn to fly.
They can not slip past these lips
though I strain and strive,
I feel as if my words are alive.
With minds of their own they cower inside,
refusing to move when I look in your eyes.
So ask not what I’m thinking,
for my own tongue will betray me.
Instead let my lips and hands
tell you what you need to know.
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