I don't say much.
So when I do,
My words stutter and break like the strings on a violin.

I hate confrontation.
So when I'm forced to come face to face with someone,
My freckled cheeks turn pink and my body drowns in awkward.

I'm not good at much of anything.
I'm clumsy and nervous,
Half the time I have no idea what I'm doing.

My confidence wears shoe laces
and I trip over them and land face first in a pile of embarrassment.

I don't have the strength to believe.
So when I walk into a church,
My footsteps reverberate like sin.

They say actions are louder than words,
But the scratching of my pencil on paper pierces the air and my hand speaks louder than my actions ever could.

My hand grows lonely without a pencil,
So I write and I write,
Because I think it's what I believe in.
Because I think it's what I'm good at.