When I am moved to speak, I don’t have the words yet.
I become a boat pushed onto water, wiggling with unguided potential.
I become an untrained runner hearing the starting signal, ready for a false start.
I become a bent match breaking without a spark.
If language is supposed to be a medium, a mediator, an adapter, how come it feels like a wall to run against, a hole to squeeze through, a confinement to burst out of?
Have A Little Think 