Magic

the words on the edges of my lips 
are only for the paper to know
as it becomes increasingly covered in graphite misspells 
and the small ink scribbles made to check if one's pen is operational 
the thoughts in my head
are only to be whispered to my pencil 
as my eraser removes my bad ideas from the world
with great sweeping motions across my paper
only the most beautiful words 
are allowed to stay 
only the most heartfelt sentences
that come right from my very soul 
are inked in a slanting cursive 
and only the best of these
are read to the tired woman
in the red apron
elbow deep in dishes
and though i stutter i know my words can be beautiful
though i have to stop to breathe 
i know the meaning of my attempts to show you my world 
are worth it 
words
have magic
magic that brings joy
and understanding 
or hurt 
and confusion
it depends on how you choose to use it
be careful with your magic.