No one can grasp that
The simple act of conversation
Is especially arduous for me.
My mouth isn’t as in tune
As other people’s vocal instruments.
The direction of its composition
Conflicts with the longings of my heart
Making the jarring texture
Of my speech sound off-key.
What is aggravating
Is as the composer
Of my rebellious voice
Is that I can hear what I want to compose
Perfectly in my head,
The right melody and everything.
But what comes out of my lips,
Sounds like a badly played note,
The meaning lost in the generated words,
The likelihood of being heard and understood
In its place,
Of a blabbering mindless infant
That needs to be tediously edified.
The thing is though
I know that I am intelligent,
An inquisitive thirst for knowledge.
But the powerlessness of my speech,
My Achilles heel if you may,
Makes people think I’m an idiot.
I can see their looks of condescendence
Or that it gives them ammunition
To witness someone who can’t talk right.