Meeting My Silence
It sits there, like a lump in my throat or a shadow in the corner.
My silence is thick, like black smoke from a chimney.
My silence is dark and red, like a wound that will not heal.
My silence turns ugly when it is goaded into non-action, asked to step-aside for sounds to tumble from my lips like a thousand uncut diamonds, yearning to be polished and formed into words again.
My silence is jealous and possessive. It cringes when I seek connection outside its walls.
My silence is like murder, stealing the life of my creativity and snuffing out its light as if a mere candle in a hurricane.
My silence laughs at my attempts to reclaim my vocabulary and motivation for self-expression.
My silence grows angry when I ignore it, when I pretend it isn’t bending me until I hear the cracking within and come so close to breaking.
It pokes and prods me, daring me to speak and share what lies within my heart and mind;
Threatening that the world will crumble around me if I speak my truth too loudly.
My silence echoes in deafening waves through my subconscious mind, threatening to drown out any semblance of peace or sanity.
My silence is afraid. It fears that revelation of long buried truths will cause an avalanche of expression to flow, cover, and bury it deep down in my bones.
I understand my silence now.
I see that it strikes out of fear, like a dog who has been beaten into submission or ignored for far too long.
I see it tremble every time I put pen to paper or fingers to keys.
My silence is frightened.
It clings to me like a child to its mother’s breast; scared that I will leave it hungry and alone.
My silence aches to be held, like a long lost lover; caressed and kept tenderly near the heart.
It desires to be my one and only; yet it knows this cannot be.
I can see my silence.
I witness my silence.
I welcome my silence to sit with me, communicating without words our love for one another.
I opened the door, invited it in, gave it warm milk and a hug.
My silence grows less fearful.
It loosens its grip on my tongue.
It begins to see how much I desire a symbiotic relationship; feeding us both with silent breaths and poetry on page.
I mouth the words, “I love you” and my silence lets me go.
For the first time in a long time, silence lets my feelings flow.
For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends Tears to Triumph: The Spiritual Journey from Suffering to Enlightenment.
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