Liminal Spaces

When I was first told 

my voice has an “international twinge”, 

I felt a deep pang of sadness,

unspoken shame.

The whiplash of an unintended insult 

staining my cheeks childish.

The word “outsider” hidden in the subtext,

another reminder: “you don’t belong here”.

Melancholy’s softness encasing me

as I take further steps away from my “roots”

wearing my lilting voice as baggy clothing

that I’m yet to grow into.

Tottering in the depths 

of an accent they don’t recognise, 

like a child wearing mother’s heels.

A subtle mark branded, 

left for those who remained

to point out and mock, 

after I moved on 

to find “home” in international borders. 

Still pronouncing my ts crisply as winter leaves

yet forgetting

in heightened conversations, talking fast,

what years of speech lessons drilled into me.

Pushing the words steeply from my tongue, 

a sharp uphill purr,

once routine now a semi-automatic decision,

attempting to re-carve my softened speech,

whilst still growing 

into the ill-fitting lull, now forming part of me.

My fading pronunciation a reminder

of a lifetime left behind.