The Thing I Want To Say
There's the thing I want to say
and the thing I say.
Not so different, but different enough
to ruin my words, and shrink me
in my chair.
There's the way I wanted to speak
and the way I speak.
One hesitant, yet firm, terribly
intelligent, but never proud. The other
stupid, young, obnoxious, the sentences
going up at the end, the r-r-r sound
too American, exaggerated as if
I'm on television.
In my head, I'm so much better
than I really am. It's awful.
If you've any comments on her poems, Jessy
Randall would be pleased to hear