Telephone

Wire stretches between But it’s a game of telephone Inside me Each whispering to the next What I feel To what I know What I want To what I should What I think To what I say The final becomes so muddled with decay Never recognizable to the first phrase Been on toe so long My feet might freeze like this I’m no ballerina Walking on eggshells Walking around the mess But you say so much more in silence Than words could ever express So grateful the receiver has no eyes Blindly keeps the secret of my weakness It doesn’t know, it doesn’t tell How the plumbing of my eyes has gone awry Leaks spring left and right I only have so many fingers To plug up seepages of pain “Hello? Are you OK?” No. I regulate my breathing To control my tone before I speak “I-“ It’s too late A telltale sniffle escaped It’s all I can do to say I’m fine Without sounding grossly fake