words in my throat

If you were to stretch your slender fingers into my throat, maybe
Even down into my heart to find the things on which I dote you
Would find innards of an usual kind, intestines made of poetry.
From my throat you will pluck words, unwritten, unheard,
Unspoken. They are merely a token. A symbolic offering of the
Inner walls of my mind that verbalise things through lines cute,
And unkind and they, linger here. After years spent bouncing in
Between my two hemispheres they will eventually settle, and
Mature, and await the day when I open the door that entraps
Them within my chords so they may lurch forwards, and be
Set upon the world. But I know, if I were brave enough to hurl
Them, if were to pluck them from my vocal chamber and gently
Uncurl them, I, their creator, would not be ready to let go. They
Are a secret that I, am not ready for the world to know. So I will
Leave them tucked up in the mattress of my larynx, cuddled and
Huddled under my vocal folds that will keep them warm until
They are ready. Until my confidence is stable and my voice is
Steady and then, then I will unleash them on your ears.