Mute

Here's what I was originally going to post this morning. Maybe its not so scary, now that I've remembered to laugh today.

Sometimes I think mornings are the most difficult time of the day. Words form in my head, but they can't find their way out of my mouth. My tongue is miserly and won’t let them go. Sometimes they are content to remain caught in my mouth. They can find their way to my hands and fill up the white of the written page. But other times they lodge in my chest where their frantic attempts to burst free cause pain. I can feel the rounded curves and the sharp edges of the letters pushing and poking at my ribs. They say to my hands, just dig into the chest and rip us out. Set us free.