Voice

I have a voice, even though I rein it in so often it has become barely a whisper.  You have a voice, too, and sometimes it is all I can hear in this room.  It's okay, though.  This isn't a request to make your voice quieter, but to make mine loud.

The spoken word is a betrayal to what I truly feel.  I need to spend some quiet time, glorying in the ink as it seeps into the page.  I need to rest in the calm of letters, punctuation, and emotion.  Speaking, I fumble and reach for ideas out of grasp.  

It is better this way.  This is my way.