The Shape of Meaning

I write in words
held in limbo
between two tongues.
Swaying on a rope bridge
between two cultures,
it’s no surprise
they sometimes fall
into the abyss of
misunderstanding.

The words I use
are not mine:
as foreign to me
as I seem to you.
Do not hate me if
the pieces do not
fit and the meaning
that you take is
other than the one
I meant to give.

Or should I say nothing;
and let silent safety
provoke no reaction,
while the Bell’s Palsy
of the disconnected
transforms my face
into the mask
you think it is?