There's so much I want to say. But I feel trapped.

There's so much I want to say. But I feel trapped. There's so much I want to say. But I feel trapped. I rehearse what I want to say, but I know all too well that it's futile. The moment comes to speak; my mind scrambles for words. Tortured, brutal sounds leave my lips— these weren't even the words I wanted to say! My interlocutor stares back in confusion. l can see their thought process: is he retarded? Maybe it’s a developmental disorder. Then they choose to be polite—painfully polite—and recite their socially sensitive platitudes. Did we even really talk to each other? What we spoke to each other was trivial. What was really communicated was more obtuse: l struggle with my speech, and you are generally polite. Nothing more was said. This performance plays out on the grand stage of "the Public”. This is the stage l fear the most, because l am a poor performer. That is what my speech hinders me from the most: presenting myself in a favorable manor; first impressions, job interviews, asking a girl for her number. Of course, these are the most superficial kinds of interactions. My speech hinders me from public "performances”. But, of course, I am not an actor, l am a person; a unique individual. And while my speech may hinder my ability to be an adept social actor, it does not hinder me from being myself. So save your social conventions—your “politeness” and your trivialities—and talk to me, not as actors on a public stage, but as unique individuals with problems, dreams, and, most of all, empathy for one another.