Until "You" Becomes "I"
At first, You had teeth.
You know better. You did this. You are too much.
So you learned to stand outside myself and let the bite land there.
...
I was never gone.
Only somewhere behind the sound.
Close enough to hear it.
Yet not close enough to say I without flinching.
...
For so long, You were the hands that pointed.
The voice to blame.
The room I could not leave.
I only wanted you to stop sounding like her.
...
So you called, from the floor.
From the dark.
From the place behind the sound.
From the mouth that could not say I yet.
From whatever part of me could still reach upward.
...
You are allowed to be tired.
No. You are not.
Again.
You are allowed to be imperfect.
No. You are not.
Again.
You are allowed to be you.
No. You are not.
Again.
Again.
Again.
...
Until the word came back shaking.
Until the bite did not land as hard.
Until I reached for you with softer hands.
...
Now You are still here.
So am I.
Only now, when the old voice reaches for you,
I reach too.
And somewhere between the wound and the answer,
You learn my voice.
I learn to stay.
