I write because when I speak, I don’t.
My words are lost in translation
And it seems only my smile is being communicated.
Sometimes it feels too soft.

I write because next year I will be a nursing student.
And I will look into the eyes of a dying daughter,
46 years old with a blood pressure of 82 over 50,
And I will smile with, “how was breakfast?”

I write because I speak a dead language.
Studying and learning my culture,
Neither will help you become fluent,
Because these questions aren’t meant to have answers.

I write because I work in fast food,
And when I greet a customer with “How are you?”
He replies with his order, not his state of being,
While I punch buttons on a screen.

I write because I am mute.
Noises and phonemes echo in my mouth,
Almost constantly, in fact,
But it seems that I am never speaking.