They asked where I was 'really' from

They asked where I was 'really' from,

a new job, polished shoes, bright lights.

Because of how I said 'water,' dumb,

a sound that changes in the nights.

My tongue, it feels heavy now, trying

to shape a word that isn't quite mine,

a borrowed coat, sometimes too tight,

sometimes just hanging, a weak sign.

Used to be sharp, the edges of my speech,

like flint against steel, a certain bite.

Now I smooth it out, just out of reach,

so the meaning gets through, burning less bright.

I fake it for work, or for the polite ear,

and wonder who I was before I disappeared.