My words feel stuck again

and, though it's been long enough,

I can still remember

the last time that they failed me.

Eloquent statements are a privilege

as I struggle even just to understand,

much less express, myself.

I see myself acting,

and I hear myself speaking.

I wonder who it is that I'm being,

and I hesitate to tell myself once again

that [it's only a matter of time]

before I have the time:

to find myself,

to reclaim my tongue and my teeth,

my mouth and my words,

my body and my mind,

my thoughts and my soul,

and, if I fathom correctly,

my heart.