I keep writing things
I would not say.
That must mean one of two things.
Either the page is brave
or I am a coward.
Maybe both.
When I talk,
I edit too fast.
I hear the room in my head.
I hear the answer coming back.
I hear how foolish I might sound
and the mouth closes up.
The page does not laugh.
The page does not nod either,
which is its own hard kind of honesty.
I am beginning to think
writing is not a cleaner form of speech.
It is dirtier.
It keeps more blood in it.