The words that escape her lips
Are unlike her own.
They are molded
Like plastiline.

I wonder how long it took her
To create that perfection of a voice sculpture?
How much she had to modify
And discard her words
To make them sound so firm.
So sure.

For how long did she practice
To hide her stutter?
Her anxious shaking?
Her nervous glancing?

How many times
Did she smile at the mirror,
To brighten that shadow of insecurity in her face?
To erase the imperfections
Of her forged happiness?

I wonder if she’s aware,
That when she tried to build
A stronger self,
She was actually
Making herself weak.
Hiding her voice,
Her individuality,
In obscurity.

I hope she remembers
That even when the multitude
Screamed for her to change
I adored her simplicity.
Her restraint.

And I hope,
All that molding
Doesn’t erase
What’s really left
Of her.