Content
A poem to my stutter “Stuttering” Creeping black mildew, soaking my lungs; soaking my being. There is something there. I can feel it. Others can’t, at first. I start to speak. “What is it he wants?” I picture them thinking, for truth or not. …………………………………………………………………………….. A Pause. I spit out what is in my mind: tongue immobile, mouth not moving, my brain is ice. “Why aren’t I saying it?” I have asked myself daily. Why is there a block? Why is there resistance inside me. This other thing. This stutter. This violent being. Why does it permeate my whole being? Am I so very wrong be alive. No. The thought is there, but I still have a choice in how I live my life. I have choice to choose my actions for myself. People can accept or reject me. It is none of my business how they choose either. People come from all paths of difficulty, and I have one of them; maybe my stutter will coincide with some other paths. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ​ I wish you all safe travels friends ;\]