The Inner Child Uses My Mouth

I speak and my voice comes out smaller than expected,

a hand-me-down sound with scraped knees in it.

At the grocery store, at the meeting table,

at the sink at midnight-

she keeps borrowing my tongue.

She says sorry too quickly.

She flinches at raised eyebrows.

She asks, Is this okay? even when it is.

I try to tell her the years have changed,

that the house is safer now,

that we are allowed to take up space.

But she still tastes the old rules in every sentence,

still waits for permission to finish speaking,

still believes love must be earned.

Some days I let her talk.

Some days I hold her quiet

and answer for us both.