I’ve heard I’m not stupid a million times before.
But why can’t a remember the spelling of the word I knew before.
Before I left my classroom I knew nothing of the world.
Now I’ve moved so far and fast I’m in a different part of the country.
I may not read the correct word every single time, but my degree will show you I fight for what is mine.
The words I say in my head may not sound the same from my mouth, but know that I care so much when i stutter them out.
Thinking and creating are never hard for me but explaining and talking will never be comfortable inside.
I’ve took hours to get it right when others take a minute, but my dreams will come true if I continue to work for it.
Capitals, punctuation and grammar are not part of my writing not for that fact I don’t care for them but they don’t understand me.
Spelling out loud scares me more than a gun, but run from my writers dreams.
No steps I run, I float above the words that are on the page.
Dyslexia will not make me a slave.
I shall carry the word with me as a scar,
always there but does not define my life of shining.