I have been listening to a voice
She is not mine.

She told me things like
“I can’t hear anything so neither can you.”
things like
“This is it. Your words have shriveled up
and ran away
it is the bitter taste of ink left on
your tongue.”
things like
“You lost your voice.
You lost yourself, too.”

I have been listening to a voice
She is not mine.

She painted the world in
the brightest shades of gray
and siphoned all the strength I had
to at least pick up the paintbrush
She convinced me that my
arms were too short for murals
that all I could do was
lie on my back and stare
up
up
up
at things beyond my grasp.

I have been listening to a voice
She is not mine.

She planted herself right in front of me
I only pushed her away
so I could see the stars.
No one told me
there was more than one way
to look up at the night sky.
I should’ve just stepped around her.