THE PEN SPEAKS MY MIND

I have always said,
my written word,
speaks louder
than my 
voice.

I can recall and remember,
Then I take my time,
ensuring timelines are on point,
details are coherent,
ruminate each rewrite 
and carefully craft 
each written word.

If I were to use 
my voice,
I fear,
I either will 
short change the story 
I am about to share or worse,
exaggerate and elongate 
the tale I am about to tell.

Once they leave my voice,
There’s no offer to taking back,
nor redo’s, nor retractions.

Once recited, 
it left my thoughts,
through my voice 
pass through my lips 
then without fail 
it’s gone forever, 
without a copy of 
what was said.

Or worse…
becoming a 
he said 
versus
they said,
with truth muddled 
somewhere in between.

Perhaps, 
when I speak,
I get clumsy at the podium,
and stutter my words
as I know I will.
It’s then I have 
lost my pace
then my purpose. 

Once I finish,
I became my worst enemy,
I try to recall my words
but best I can do is ruminate.

So I return to the page,
where my thoughts slow down,
where truth doesn’t tremble,
and clarity waits for me.

Here,
the pen speaks my mind—
and finally,
I hear myself,
before anyone else does.