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,