Don’t tell me
my voice is beautiful.
Don’t compliment
my use of words.
Don’t encourage me
to speak them louder.

I don’t want to
talk about poetry.
I don’t want to abuse
language that way.

The day will come
when I don’t hear
past voices in every
present moment.

But until then
don’t push me.
Don’t praise me.
Don’t remind me.
Various attributes of myself are constantly betraying me. My voice is probably highest among them. Someday someone will say “You’ve got a beautiful voice” and I’ll take it for the compliment it was meant as.


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