Imagine a boisterous instrument
Poised to blast the final note
But inside this horn is a clumped blanket
A calm mask
A quiet veneer
Muffling all intentions
Muting what would be the finale

My words aren’t my words
I have nothing to say
Poems don’t flow
they don’t have my endings
The meaningful but mute endings
I’ve become so fond of
I can’t find them
I can’t find my voice
Where am I

But I cannot find another
I once used quotes in my poems to add depth
But I cannot find a quote that
Pops out at me
I cannot write
But maybe
This is how I broke free