Half

I speak the half imperfect

language of my own creation

an almost fluent crescendo

an almost anglophone innuendo

the language of people with unreadable names

at doctor’s appointments

click and collect tills

council tax calls

the language of almost fully

settled

almost fully

integrated

Almost citizens of adoptive countries

half wanted

half convenient

vomiting spellings

patiently repeating

I’m a monster,

an half-being

with no language to master

no home to be in

I’ve learned a new word today

and tomorrow I’ll be the parrot of your dreams

dress me up in exotic clothes

I’ll become the addiction you’ll get tired of

I’ll take my half language

my cocktail of accents

back to where I came from

back where I don’t belong

Your language has been lingering on my tongue

for so long

I’m forgetting my own

and when I write you poems

I’m at a loss for words

but you’re not dispensing your own

so I take my half imperfect language

an almost fluent crescendo

and I make it my own

too good to withhold

too new to belong.