I had a thought —
it slipped.
A line to speak —
just clipped.

I meant to say
what’s wrong,
but maybe I
came on too strong.

My chest said go,
my mouth said wait.
My throat just held
a heavy weight.

I wrote it down —
then backspaced all.
It felt too weak,
it felt too small.

I wish I could
explain this fear,
but words run dry
when you get near.

So if I stall
or start to shake —
it’s not a game,
it isn’t fake.

It’s just that when
my mind gets loud,
my voice gets lost
inside the crowd.