I thought that once I became naturalized, the border would disappear.

It didn’t.

The border didn’t go away.

It moved.

Now it lives inside me.

It shows up when I speak,

when my accent arrives before I do,

when my voice passes through a filter before it comes out.

I stopped being spontaneous.

I started listening to myself before speaking,

correcting myself in silence,

choosing safer words.

I learned to process myself before the system had to.

No one asked me to.

But my body understood.

The correction happened without instruction.

The adjustment, without being told.

I don’t cross a border.

I carry it.