Why I don’t talk is a mystery most people don’t know or don’t care. Why doesn’t she speak unless spoken too. Too be honest, I don’t know why I didn’t inherit, this easy trait, but for me it’s just hard to open my mouth. My Mom can talk for hours and hours. She can say whatever is on her mind. Her voice is graceful like tissues floating to the ground, and neat like the stitching in a sweater. My Dad however has to force himself to talk. He talks with caution, and he studders when confused. His voice is surprising like dropping a nail onto glass, and harsh like paint peeling of a wall. My Brother is like my Mom, he has a wide toothy grin, and a voice like pen to paper with a hint of laughter in between vowels. My Sister can’t talk to adults without a gap of silence, but when it comes to talking to other kids, she reveals her nail polish smooth voice, that has a harsh bang after every sentence. Me, unlike the rest of my family isn’t as confident, whenever I speak it sounds like sarcasm. My voice blinking, fast and quick, scratchy like dragging your feet. I keep my voice on paper, where I can’t make mistakes. My family lets their words fly. But I let mine express themselves, but still contained.