Frustration.

Do I not know enough words? Have I not had enough practice? Yet every time it really matters I say the wrong thing. I can wax poetics about a ring the efficacy of bing or why I shouldn’t sing. But when it really matters I trip over my own lines. It sound so forced it sounds demanding it sounds morose, worth reprimanding. When it truly matters I just can’t say a thing. I can rant out this whole speech in less than a minute but when I wish to be frank with you I thank the stars for giving me a chance to show my flexibility by stuffing my foot into my mouth. Sure at the drop of a hat I can write a love poem, I can tell a story, I can tell you about the way the world works, but when it truly matters, you’ll need someone else.

ECHO ECHO

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