You speak to me,
sometimes about me.
Though I’ve never told them to you,
you tell me my stories
in ways I haven’t heard
or contemplated.
You seem to understand me,
find me,
and at times
define me.
My audio mirror.
I listen intently
marveling at the many voices
that speak my innermost thoughts.
Secrets shared with me, myself, and I
retold melodically by others,
with varying tones, speeds, and words.
My uncontrollable voice box.
And as I repeat the stories from
my audio mirror and uncontrollable voice box,
I hear someone repeating my stories, too.
Maybe these stories are not mine alone.
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