Smooth and swift these words fill the page, black curves, glistening smudged by my hands
Or halting and stiff, the graphite pencil, wooden switches and swishes and my terrible punctuation
Half-formed figures and plots riddled with holes, my broken babies
I write these lines for you small and quiet, uneven spaces and bad grammar, because speaking is so loud and my voice is hoarse and my tongue trips and stumbles, and I cannot find the words to say to you.