unspoken poem

There is something pressing
I want to say about me,
or to me —
really, more to myself,
but it feels as if I no longer recall
what language
I speak.

Right now in fact
I can’t even think of a word longer than
two — what do you call them? parts?
sounds?
Two of those.

I hope when I do think
of what it is
I was going to say
that it is simple enough
for me to say it.

I could not stand it
if it was so
hard to say
that I might die before
I get it out of my mouth.

If it is worth saying,
let me say it in time
to save myself the trouble
of finding someone
to tell me lies
and convince me that
their lies are truth,
they are my truth,
that there is only one truth
for all of us.

It is said that saying things
doesn’t make them so,
but I have not
spoken yet — so
how can I
be sure?