Why do the words find my pen so appealing and my mouth the opposite?

Why can my Writings express my feelings and my speech barely even scratch the surface?

Where can I find a happy medium between my pen and my mouth
Because it's really killing me to have all these thoughts swirling around in my brain, and not being sure about how they'll come out

Sometimes one moves faster than the other
And it's annoying, not funny like undercover brother

So if anyone knows how, please tell me what am I to do?
Because my head is wired more chaotically than the San Diego zoo

You are beautiful,
You are breathtaking
You are quirky,
You are funny,
You are unique,
You are awkward.
You are weird
You are loveable.
You are you,
And you is pretty
Damm spectacular.

you forgot about things we used to care about together
before everything we had got a little bit harder to have

I guess you could call me a
smooth criminal, if your definition
consists of a slipshod ball of nerves
who just so happens to find nirvana
sliding their fingertips into your pocket.

I've not managed to steal a thing, and
y'know exactly how hard it is to pull off
the greatest heist when my knuckles shake
hard enough to throw California straight
into the ocean.

Shut up.

So what if your hand happens to be right
next to mine?! Don't mean a thing, of course not,
and stop makin' so many assumptions,
you're always puttin' words in my mouth,
'specially when I'm next to ya.

S'fine, I've already finished anyway! Objective
accomplished, reward obtained. Hope ya don't
mind that my hands are little sweaty...

The oppression hangs stiff and unrelenting
And the sincerity comes off too awkward and from left field
I just want to move, but all I can accomplish are twitches in different directions
You're talking at me, not with me
And I'm close to fabricating an elaborate story to put you in shut down mode so that I can continue on my day
I don't care about your message
I'm not buying your book, I'm not reading your pamphlet, and I'm not joining your group.
I'm eating a ******* burrito, and that's IT.

Ignore the veiled murmur beneath
the social graces and party conversation

excuse this bland ****** arrangement
feigning interest in tales worn thin
cruising the same old Memorial Parkway.

This, and the embedded gravel
marking each grim rotation:

expectation
disappointment
anger

the weight of relentless perfection.

right now,
I crave conversation.
I sit alone.
Waiting for her to finish.
I sit here
hearing all conversations.
One is about football
another is about plans for this Wednesday.
I want to be talking.
I want to be apart of something.
right now
My spirits are low.
Right now,
it seems like these gray tables are going to swallow me whole
these chairs hurt.
there is a model rocket above my head.
I want to fly away in it
Zoom past the stars,
the planets
and everything in between.
I want to be one with the air.
One in the soul.
forever
I feel alone.
Alone
I wait...
still waiting
but what can I expect?
Some things are really important.
Sorry I tried to keep you,
but this feeling is why.
Woops.
So yeah,
I feel alone.
So alone.
Its noisy,
yet I feel the silence.
Dark, silent silence.
Why did god create this feeling.
Its quite ugly
this is getting repetitive.
I know.
but I cant help it
I feel alone