Voice

I have
no voice

lost it, perhaps

or merely
forgotten it

This sickness
has changed me
is changing me

turning me
inside out

No
not like a hurricane
or a quick
tornado

More like
a piece of laundry
left out on the line
in a thunderstorm,
twisted out of shape

In the complicated
process
of freeing myself
I have forgotten
my song
forgotten
to sing

I am still
hanging limply
on the line
practicing
sounds
whispering
words
looking
for my voice
in the midst
of the loud
shrieking
of this illness

And I wonder
if
learning to listen
comes first

 

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