I am learning my own language.
The sounds and subtext of my body
when the vowels make long, drawn
out sounds, and when they stop suddenly.

Blunt and obvious.

I haven’t spoken this language of me
in a long time, and I am stumbling
through every awkward sentence.

Did you hear me?
Do you understand me?
Is all of myself lost in translation?


I have been speaking a romance language
between the inner walls of my stomach.

You hear the sound and feel
love, but no one understands the
actual meaning of me.

All strange, beautiful notes in your ear
That we’ve all spent years trying to decipher.

Words I forgot completely are now
lyrics born in my lungs I simply, remember.
Muddled phrases, marry-go-rounds of
flowers on my head, grass stains
and electric blue nail polish.

I’ve always been her.

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