My voice had been gone since September
(I remember the last days of when it was still intact;
I could use it, but it was damaged
It was the sound of peeling an onion,
Cut up, choppy, and coarse)
I eventually got sick of the struggle
So I let it go

But the other day, I called for you
And speaking is coming naturally again

It’s true; I do still love the sound of my voice
But it also brings with it a weight—
The chains on my ankles
(The chains from you, the ones
That starve me from my silent freedom)
They fade in as the hushed fades out

And I remember why I let my voice get lost

*-MJS