I am sorry. I am sorry, I'm too scared to speak in tongue. Yours and what should be mine. I'm sorry the words don't come so quickly. I hear you, I understand you, I really do. Your sound, the sound of pride, a myriad of emotions, they flow beautifully unlike my frozen, fragmented hesitations.
I trapped myself in this fear of sounding strange, of not knowing enough words to even tell a story. I am always scratching on glass, helplessly trying to get the words on the other side.
They're right there. I feel them beating on the panels I keep trying to break. They're right there. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I can't reach for them. I'm stuck in these glass walls I created myself.
My hands are so sore from trying, and I look at you and wonder, it's been so long, are your words still mine?
I trapped myself in this fear of sounding strange, of not knowing enough words to even tell a story. I am always scratching on glass, helplessly trying to get the words on the other side.
They're right there. I feel them beating on the panels I keep trying to break. They're right there. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I can't reach for them. I'm stuck in these glass walls I created myself.
My hands are so sore from trying, and I look at you and wonder, it's been so long, are your words still mine?
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