My Voice or Theirs.

I’ve been thinking about the sounds I take in—

the voices that weave themselves into my breath,

the melodies that settle in my bones,

the songs I claimed as my own,

allowed to sink in until they shaped me.

*

People speak, their words a blur,

syllables ricocheting off the walls,

until my ears learned how to listen,

until I understood the weight of a voice—

how it carves its path, how it stains.

*

And soon enough, I spoke.

My mouth, a vessel for echoes,

my tongue tracing borrowed syllables,

until I could no longer tell—

was this mine? Was it theirs?

Or was I just a chorus, layered and rewritten?

*

Oh, why did I let them settle in?

Now, I hum their tune without question,

the harmony so sweet, it numbs the doubt.

How beautiful it is to belong,

to be in sync, to call it family.

*

But beneath the melody lies discord,

a subtle flute, choked beneath heavy sheets.

We call it comfort. We call it home.

Yet, behind closed doors, the notes waver,

our voices tangled with insecurities,

trapped in a song we never chose—

mistaking it for our own.

Till we stop to listen,

To realize,

To decipher—

Which is ours,

And which is merely theirs….

“Stop the music”…..I say, breathless, coming alive in realization.