Why is it that I can fill my mouth with clunky words, ugly words, but I can never pinpoint the pretty words that roll off my tongue and make pretty sounds?

I talk and am told I'm too much. I fold in on myself behind closed doors and berate my need for attention, unbridled desperation. Yet tomorrow more words will spill and spoil and even still I'll wish they were drowning me.

I want to choke on my verbiage. Sew my mouth shut with steely reminders that my teeth and tongue and lips will get me nothing but lonely and a stomach ache.

Make it stop. I can't take pliers to my molars while my tongue wags. Make me stop. I don't want to be loud but I am. Make the embarrassment stop. Shred my tongue into ribbons and make it end. Make the words stop.