To speak,

I can hardly speak. 
Physically, I have the liberty but am encumbered by my own conscious self
Ideas, emotions, and queries stay trapped behind my eyes. 
Watching others communicate, it’s a marvel and a mirror. 
Reflection; what is it that they have that I lack? 
Confidence comes first to mind 
But even when I’m blessed with a burst of bravery, it’s superseded by an inevitable wave of self-doubt. 

Always punctual, always suffocating.
I cling to the dialogue of others with all the will to live until it’s crushed under my excess weight
and I’m left to drown in my own clumsy references and over explanations. 
The internet should be my saving grace, right? 
Binary courage to not only brave but control the storm. 
I want to cry. 

For the sake of argument instead, I’ll blame. 
You can’t read their faces, it’s not interesting, the replies are out of rhythm
All personal and potentially valid excuses. 
Personal and potentially valid excuses fatally eclipsed by the convenience of technology itself. 

With a flick of my finger, I can talk to people anywhere, day or night.
But this superpower is wasted on me. 
If they sat right across from me writing in the coffee shop I wouldn’t use my God-given capacity to catch their eyes with mine, 
exhale a breath contorted into one of many assuming sounds, 
and have a coherent conversation. 
Why?

I want to cry.