A Voice 

That is not any of mine

Is in my mind 

guiding , speaking  kind, confident

Bizarre how welcome it feels

How comfortable and immersed

No resistance just listening

Opening

Unmasking 

Unlocking

Is this dropping?

I don’t feel dropped but I do feel open. 

I feel safely vulnerable, witnessed, seen, chosen, 

fascinating, acceptable and oddly … beautiful. 

The Voice is almost looking at my mind.

The Persistent Voice is opening my mind

We just met

We only have so many minutes 

And then the connection is severed

Laughter kept silent but flowing freely.

Same with tears

And stimming

Rocking back and forth

The Affirmatives -  asked for, 

Over and over

Everything I shove in a box, being opened

And aired out

Is this dropping?

Is this trance?

I don’t feel dropped -- but I do feel

Maybe we didn’t drop

Maybe there wasn’t enough time

But the mask?

The mask dropped.

I see it there

In the silence

And feel it in the tears

Falling shamelessly 

Down my cheeks

Agency, I would guess,  is choosing to pick the mask back up or not.

The Tist couldn’t see my contained giggles or the tears

If they had - I may not have let the mask drop at all

I can trust voices

Even those not my own

But gazes, eyes,  being watched,

Can still feel like judgment

Still feel like armor is needed

But a voice

Even one That is not mine

That is trustworthy

Somehow

It was playful in its solemn tone

Guiding with a light hand

No metronome, 

No other tools

Just the voice

Like static in the dark

A static squiggle that

Would bounce and dance

As  I transmuted the sound

Into a touchstone image 

In my mind,  letting the voice dictate the static’s dance.

With the intonations, chosen words, stress and pitch of sound

The suggestions becoming choreography

The imagery I gave it as I listened

Soothed my social anxiety -  relaxing it

It  was like feeling my fingers slowly release the fear

And awaken the curiosity