Stitch

You lost your voice

long before

you locked it in it’s box.

And now you seem unsure

whether to use it.

It seems to talk easily

in other people’s chambers,

and echo

in them freely,

among friends.

And yet

you cannot hear yourself:

the way you talk about others

and

all the wise things you say,

like they are in

a different language,

not for you.

If only

you could stitch up

the things people say about you,

then

you could build a blanket,

to wear

when you look in the mirror.

Then you might see

what we all see,

at long last.