I “sound like a robot” when I speak my native tongue,
my friends said this to me yesterday and laughed.
I, thinking nothing of it, laughed along—
the siren song of our joy causing nearby eyes to cast
their sights on us, and soon the whole restaurant
did the same, some smiling, while others were morose,
and towards the latter my heart left my body and sat.
I watched it leave. I wasn’t confused. I know
you think I shouldn’t be laughing. In fact, I should
be offended, right? Say something back, or disagree? But
the fact of the matter is they’re correct, you know.
My tongue feels fizzled when speaking Nepali,
or like an arm, all static, when slept on.
I can still move it, but feel it? I think not.
And English feels like a warm stranger picked up
at a bar or a club, when I was feeling most alone,
Who now stays at my place. But it isn’t love.
We use each other. I need voice, it needs songs.
But it isn’t love. And I know you know this. So
come back into my chest. And shut the fuck up.
