Unspoken Limitation

Tamara Mayer

Sometimes, I am amazed by the limitations my mind has built,
To others, simple things,
To me, impossible walls I can’t break through.
I’m reminded of them in every interaction.
I try to say thank you to the person holding the door,
But the words don’t form,
And by the time I pass, it’s too late.
I try to say good morning,
But the words get tangled,
The configuration too slow,
Leaving silence as my safer choice.
Excuse me, I try to say as I pass by,
But it comes out too small,
Too quiet—
Lost in the space between intention and sound.
I try to pull the muscles in my face,
To create an expression,
But when I look in the mirror,
I see barely any change.
I am amazed at how often I forget to look someone in the eye,
How my thoughts scatter like threads in a web,
Stimuli pulling my attention in all directions.
I try to remember the lines I’ve scripted for conversation,
But sometimes, I forget to speak altogether.
I try to show emotion,
But I am told I come off cold,
Like a shadow cast too long in the dark.
Sometimes, I am amazed
At the distance between what I want to do
And what I can.
At the spaces I can’t cross,
And the silence that fills them.

Tamara Mayer is a first-year student at Eastern Illinois University with a passion for storytelling that explores the strange, the speculative, and the unsettling. Their writing often leans into mystery, sci-fi, and dystopian themes. A lifelong horror movie enthusiast, they are fascinated by the genre’s ability to reveal hidden fears and challenge societal norms. When not writing or watching something spooky, they can usually be found hanging out with their leopard gecko, Leia.