Your Words

These words… are not my words.

The words you hear as I’m speaking now
        Are just the words I was given to say.
                I don’t have to be the author, I suppose.
        Maybe it’s okay for me to let that go
And accept that these words… are not my words,

While I try to fit my voice inside them.
        Finding the right words to emphasize,
                A change of tone, or a weighty pause,
        Empty space to inhale, and exhale
As I focus on these words… that are not my words.

And struggle with the very thing I wanted:
        Words crafted by you, with me in your mind.
                A gift of sorts, but bearing an obligation:
        That I must eventually speak them into existence,
Each and every last one of these words… that are not my words.
 
And so, my lungs inflate them.
        My throat vibrates them.
                My tongue reshapes them.
        My lips narrate them.
Oh, how very eloquently – perhaps a little enviously – not my words.

I will be good, and swallow my pride.
        Seek to impress you in other ways,
                Find comfort in simply following along.
        Trust that the words are in good hands.
No need to overthink words that are… not my words.

That way, the words you hear as I’m speaking now
        Are exactly the words you told me to say.
                I need you to be the author of them,
        The author of me, so I can finally let go
And express myself with the pure belief that these are my words.

Emboldened by the grace of their existence.
        Spoken aloud, alone, for your ears to consume.
                Returned in the same spirit they were given.
        It is never a passive act, reading your words.
Your unrelenting words, leaving me at a loss for… my words.

And in their liberating absence,
        There is such profound silence.
                Wide open vistas. Infinite distance.
        Anticipation conveyed with empty spaces
That cry out for your words to become my words.

Letting them fill my mind with ease,
        Feel them swirl and flow through me,
                In pretty spirals I can almost see,
                        A perfect conduit for your creativity.
                                …that is slowly, seductively changing me…

                                So that every word is said for you.
                        Every word is shaped by you.
                Every word is an echo of you.
        Every word belongs to you.
Just like I do.