Language Barrier

I want to draw. I very genuinely want to fill this page with breathtaking images that resonate deep within the aesthetic nature of the reader. I wish so completely that I could translate the wild images—so vivid and lifelike to me—from my imagination to this page. But I'm afraid. I lack confidence. I have a language barrier, and my inability to communicate effectively—to draw fluently—shatters me. It must be so discouraging to grapple with a language gap of that magnitude. To be screaming the answer in your head—to know everything you need to know and be forced to keep it in, to yourself, alone. To be surrounded by people that expect you to communicate and to only be capable of staring—appearing sad and ignorant and rude. Who can that person really be? The limits of our language make the limits of our world. My world is only in words. It seems almost like a curse—giving me the tools to create boundless worlds but no way to open the doors to let people in to explore. I suppose they have classes for this sort of thing. I'm afraid I'll just learn to see what they see. I'll lose what I want before I achieve it. It's counterfactual, I suppose. If I was never able to communicate and I learn the wrong language, I have still grown. Losing what you don't have isn't losing at all. I guess I need to learn that.