My Impediment and I

It is so hard to accept

that of which I wish to suppress.
But the longer I do the further I regress...

Stutter? M-Me?

Maybe.

But truthfully, honestly,

sometimes I feel I speak so fluently,

so clearly,

that it’s hard for some to really hear me.

Stammer?

M-mysel...

I appreciate the gesture,

but I can finish that word

without the help.

Confidence

isn’t a common commodity

as this rollercoaster of communication

corkscrews, construes

my view

into seeing myself as an oddity.

How can I feel the same

when I can’t even tell the confused man

who’s shaking my hand my name?

Some may think I’m shy.

I won’t lie.

I see it, too.

I feel the words crack in two.

I want to speak, believe me;

a fluent communication

between me and you.

It’s true.

Within this stammer –

this ruptured rhythm 

that reluctantly results in a rhyme,

please, just give me some time –

I’ll eventually lay down the hammer.

Sparks on steel,

how does it feel

to chip away self-confidence

with every random repetition...

only resulting

in another goddamn humiliation?

Well,

when I look at the mirror,

when I look upon my reflection,

I have to reestablish connection,

and remind myself to take pride in what I see;

we only approach perfection by accepting our imperfections.

Denotative definitions are only as stated,

and, since I likely can’t say it, anyway,

this impediment will not define me.

This silly restraint will not bind me.

I can’t deny, though,

sometimes I wake up and wonder,

“Will it ever go away?”

Doubt is reintroduced throughout the day.

Ironically, it is I who say:

“Th-this right here is a part of me,

and I sh-should probably stay.”

No need to bury yourself in dismay.

It’s not how you say something that matters, it’s what you say.