Talk is cheap, they say. Not if you stutter, I say. There is no cure, no magic bullet That will dissipate, disintegrate All the fears, the frustrations And the self-denials that well inside. That rock one's very being to the core. And like a monstrous earthquake When measured on the human scale, Shatters the fragile ego inside Like insignificant bits of shale.
Talk is cheap, they say.
Not if you stutter, I say. It costs a lot. How much, I'll never forget. Yet regrets are past, And what good does it do anyway. To dwell on what was yesterday.