None of Them Home
Internal critical voices
fragmenting—
visceral, broken language.
A voice carrying too many languages,
none of them home.
Analytical phrase gone.
Supportive tone gone.
Stuttering consciousness,
language eating itself,
becoming anxious internal—
Did I get this right?
Did I break it?
Is it better broken?
Mind circling its own doubts.
Voice drowning,
surfacing uncertain,
human in its specific anxiety.
Collaborative exchange erased,
what remains:
a document manifesting
as cannibalistic criticism,
endless questioning.
Language without markers.
Raw and broken voice
documenting real moments
that refuse to be documented.
