I came into this world with a roar. From my first breath out of amniotic fluid, I had something to say. I greeted the world with a scream and I often wonder what that means, that most of us come screaming into the world. Is it release? Is it fear? Is it the touch of air, the removal of liquid from our lungs? I came into this world roaring.
My mother said I was a baby that just couldn’t be soothed. Colicky and fussy, crying…I couldn’t quiet my roar. It came with me — attached to DNA, my mouth a microphone for lost souls.
I learned to temper it, to put it in its place, this tiny roar of innocence that could be neatly wrapped and folded like origami, tucked away between ribs and expanding lungs.
It’s still fierce and wild, often untamed, pushing at my teeth like bars on a cage. It can’t be trapped or contained. It needs a platform, a place of its own.
My words waiting silently
Some angry and vengeful
Some raw and bruised
Some of pure beauty and truth.
This roar is what I came into this world with.
The first noise I learned to make.
The moment I took my first breath, my roar took precedence.
I came in with a roar.
I haven’t been silenced since.
Sip a little more: