The Body's Argument

Three days the muscle

beneath my eye

started its own argument.

I was trying to say something

that mattered—the kind of thing

you rehearse in the shower,

the kind that needs

to land without flinching.

But my eye was flinching.

Jumping.

Small mutiny at the corner of my face.

Their eyes caught it.

Tried not to catch it.

Caught it anyway.

That's when I knew—

the body speaks

before the mouth does.

The body tells

what the mouth hides.

I checked the mirror after.

The twitch was still there,

still jumping,

still making its own case

about fear.

About what I was too afraid

to say straight.

The eye kept its rhythm,

kept its own time,

kept betraying

every word.