We raise our kids on words like suppose and almost.
A lifetime of Hallmark cards and empty promises.
Years of just nearly reaching the top,
only to fall short.

Parents with hands like swingsets
and whose love fluctuates.
As does my sanity.
There is no solace in a stutter.
A stutter will take every thought
every dream
every compliment,
song,
I love you,
and make you feel each letter stab its edges into your throat
and second guess every word.
And I refuse to wait for the day your hands
form an I love you necklace around my neck.