A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I’ve a way with words, I’m so often told it,
and I do believe it, but once the quill
lifts off parchment, the pen off the page,
the fingertips off the keyboard, 
I can no longer dictate their meanings. 
I’ve heard them uttered previously, 
by others, and I’ve had to hold my tongue - 
the expression, the tone, the emphasis
all
wrong - 
I have to remember the audience derives
their own meaning, I have to remember
their experience of MY words is valid,
but I -
I feel deficient in my communication;
at best I believe myself unseen or misunderstood,
at worst, invalidated - seen and heard
and yet not believed, as though they haggle
over the cost of my odyssey, 
and question the clarity of my senses.
Today, I hear my own words
enunciated. Your voice clearly spells out
the pattern of the pain that danced upon my heart
that day, and I feel seen and heard and understood.
You speak my words with my meaning
and I feel intuited.