Xenoglossy

Anymore, I only speak
     The foreign tongues fluently.
I'm done with speaking my own.

And why? The brain, like a nut,
      Any nut, walnut, pecan,
Shrinks inside its shell and molds

With the life of other things
     Who have their own agendas
Or, at least, act as agents

Of agendas none of us
     Will, could, ever understand.
I resent my agency.

I want to be, want really
     To be, not brought down by streams
To rot in the leaves, but me.

For that, that absolutely
     Irrational reason, I
Won't speak what's spoken to me.