My Words

Right now I am mindful that I want my words to be power and speak a truth I'm afraid to say out loud. I have become a chameleon, a fence-sitter adjusting my words and my thoughts and my actions to calm waters, to stop storms.

But I want to be the storm. I want to be the reason the birds get flung around in the sky, unable to fly straight. I want to be the reason a sailor looks at the sky and feels a chill down his spine.

I want to be the reason a shy little girl, hiding from her drunk father with her head buried in a book falls in love with words.

My words. I want them to stretch, to delight, to frighten, to cast spells, to spark anger, to quell fears.

My words. From my diaphragm, my guts, not filtered through someone else's expectations. Not watered down to protect someone else's ego or to keep the family secrets. 

My words. To hurt. To Sing. To love, to caress. Mine.

Not yours. Not theirs.

The words of that little girl who had to hid behind a book to be safe from your drunken rages.

You never let her speak and so she believed she didn't have her own voice. But I'm reclaiming her. 

You can't hurt her anymore. 

And her - my - words will inspire another lonely little girl hiding her head in a book to escape the monster.



Richmond, VA

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Julie ClaytonComment