#PsychStory

This is a set of poems that express my experience with having a speech disorder growing up. It was a struggle for me in numerous ways to cope with such a setback early on in life, and I am fortunate enough to have made a recovery. 

My heart goes out to the people who wrestle with speech delays and disorders, those who are bullied and shunned for the troubles that they can't help to endure. They are much stronger than they believe themselves to be and they have talents beyond that of mere words. 

Having difficulty with language is burdensome to a person of any culture so it would be beneficial for people all over the globe to understand this barrier and how to assist those who face it.

3-5 YEARS

A room doused
In Green

Carpet of a Forest Floor
And a Pastel Lime aura circling us

That's right.

A woman is with me.
A therapist, my mother had said

The therapist with a vague face
With a rememberable voice
Steady as she commands
With a sharp sliver of silver
Rolling in her slender fingers:

"Thumbtack"

I'm supposed to echo those words
But they rise from my throat as oil
Vile, undesirable
And they ooze from my lips
Splashing into a terrible mess

The therapist doesn't spit the words back in rage
She simple cleans the spill
And tries again.

And Again.

And Again...

"Thumbtack"

6 YEARS
My mother went to speak 
To my Kindergarten teacher
Ms.Stacy

Oh, Sweet Stacy
With a kind heart
Told my mother 

"The girl may need help...
She needs more attention
Than I can give."

My mother was silent
Special Education??
For a little stutter??

"No," my mother said,
She believed in me
Even though I fell

A   y e a r   b e h i n d

10 YEARS

We moved
Hundreds of miles
From Utah to New Hampshire
And there is no one here
For me

My tongue gets caught in my throat
Whenever I dare think
Of trying to say hello
To the strangers
Who never smile

















They drift away
As if I am the Plague
Personified

I can only bite my tongue
And hope a nothing escapes
To make an even bigger fool
Out of myself

Let me read my stories,
Let me scribble in my notebooks,
Just don't let me
Say a word...


14 YEARS 
I've flown to the South
A little closer to my origins

I'm still as reclusive as ever,
But words don't matter
As much as they used to

I slip into the band hall
And speak through my clarinet

I write in the language of music
I compose symphonies
Only the future can hear



I hide in the library
Living through my favorite stories
Learning to create my own

When my peers call me
"Stupid"
For being a sloppy speaker
Or when they say
"Retarded"
For refusing to respond
I remember the

EXPRESSION

I have with music and writing
How I don't need to speak perfectly
In order to be human

18 YEARS

I've grown
In my courage

Strong enough to be a leader,
The president of the Marching Band

I am in charge of so much
I am trusted with so much

To love all of the people
That I care for now
To communicate my trust
In them




Music is a language
That spans across
Nations and Cultures

It is music
That speaks
When words fail

Therefore I dedicate myself
To this discipline
That has given me
The gracious gift
Of a voice

My mother believed in me
For a reason such as this...

#PsychStory