Ivar the Boneless, Revisited

My voice itself is lost, was always lost,
Subsumed in the chattering of others,
The nurses, doctors, and parents around
My childhood bedside. Asserting myself
In forcefully, improbably grown-up
Elocutions became my strategy.
I would speak for myself too much, so much
That you couldn't easily speak for me
Without being forced, somewhere, to quote me,
If only because I'd said it better

And you needed me as authority
To win in your argument with others
About what best to do next about me.
I became the voice each thought a weapon
In the arsenal of good decision.
I was not. There were no good decisions
To be made about a body like me.
But at least I got to pretend I was
Involved, instrumental in what happened
To me. It's a skill to rule helplessly.