I used to be able to draw pieces of my soul from lips

Like a string that I take and tie to one’s heart

To pull them higher than heaven itself

I used to be able to weave the tendrils of dawn

Into the silver tears of night with just a sound

Words would stain the tip of my tongue

Flow into the air to paint a shimmering vision

Of misery and hope, joy and pain, strength and weakness

I could strum the chords of one’s core

In a melody of perfect imperfection

Of being human, of being yourself

But now I cry out without a sound

Gasp for words that are locked away

And wish for the liquid sun that once sung beneath my skin

For the string was cut and my soul unravelled

My tongue bound by the heavy shadows of fear

And I drown in everyone else’s voices

For my own was stolen long ago