I find the words to make a distant friend,

and check them twenty times before I send,

an error-checking code in every byte.
We find a space in meatspace we can meet.

I shuffle past and only see my feet,

for you I know by words and not by sight.
I linger and pretend that I'm not there,

you find me in the end but I'll not dare

to speak the words I only know to write.
No sooner are they loud enough to hear,

I go back in my shell for one more year.

We meet again, I recognise your face

but still can't find the words to match your pace.

They're crushed in scattered pauses far too tight.
I watch your wordfights, watch you shoot the breeze

I savour each riposte at each reprise

but when they're aimed at me I flee in fright.
But battles one by one'll turn to chances;
I creep along the tunnel by advances

and start to see a distant shaft of light
but with the light I see my train appear,

and go back to my home for one more year.

When next we meet I'm not so far behind.

I speak whenever something comes to mind —

I know your mouth just speaks, it doesn't bite.
I speak before I've checked it twenty times.

I record before I've found some better rhymes —
It doesn't matter if it isn't right.
For ten mistakes I say a dozen things,

so why not flap my tongue and flap my wings?

I take the plunge and try to take a flight,
and whack into a wall. It's very clear

I'll still be in this cage for one more year.

I don't succeed in trusting that my best
is good enough until I take the test
and get a large percentage of it right.
I have the proof to save me from my fear.
Too bad I moved away from there last year.