I know that I don’t often talk to people very much.
I’m too quiet sometimes.
But that’s how I am even in reality. If you met me,
I’d have a substantial conversation with my nervous feet.
I would struggle to form coherent sentences,
and I would most likely braid
and unbraid a small section of my hair over and over.
But when I do speak,
the words have something to say.
They unfold from my tongue of their own volition.
So if you ever feel like you have something to tell me,
or you feel like there is this loneliness sitting on you
as though you’re underwater
and no one can listen to you screaming,
I am still alive.
And even though I may be shy to begin with,
I will still try to speak to you.
I will try to pull the words from inside of me.