Smooth and swift
these words fill
the page,
black curves,
glistening
smudged by my hands

Or halting and stiff,
the graphite pencil,
wooden switches and swishes
and my terrible punctuation

Half-formed figures
and plots riddled
with holes,
my broken babies

I write these lines for you
small and quiet,
uneven spaces
and bad grammar,
because speaking is so loud
and my voice is hoarse
and my tongue trips
and stumbles,
and I cannot find the words
to say
to you.