I used to Write for approval.
I used to Write so that I’d be known for something else other than my ‘shyness’.
I used to Write so that I would have something that I was best at over everyone else.
I used to Write because I wanted them to know me . . .
I don’t do that anymore . . .
I Write what I Write when I have something to say.
What that does to you or for you . . .
Well . . .
I love Writing.
Or maybe it’s not so much Writing, as it is telling my truth in one of my favorite ways.
I don’t have to stand up and make sure my voice is audible.
I don’t have to make sure that they can all see me from the back of the room.
I don’t have to make sure that my voice is not shaking and that the tears are held at bay or that I’m pronouncing the word correctly.
I love putting my thoughts out there – for some release from the pressure of keeping myself small for fear of what I’ll break if I rise to my full height.
Rise to who I am.
I write hoping that someone will sing the song back to me with their own tune and their own arrangement.
To know that I am not the only one who feels what I feel.
All that darkness.
All that light.
All that truth that I could never readily tell even my closest people.
Because maybe, they just couldn’t possibly relate to me on that level..?
And so, I Write.
Because it’s easier to put something down uninterrupted than it is to walk up to every single person on the street and unleash my Self.
I tell my Story so that maybe, the next person can tell me theirs.
So maybe, we’re not alone.
I want to Write without wondering what everyone will say.
I want to Write without filtering my feelings for fear that someone, somewhere will take offense.
I want to Write with the truth in my Heart so that I bleed it out on the page.
I want to Write with a genuine belief that God loves me even with my mess.
Yes, I am aware that I’m a misrepresentation of that belief system.
And yes, I have felt the occasional attack of shame.
Because my thoughts are dark and my imagination is freaky and dirty and my Stories can get twisted and sexy and you may be disturbed by my Poetry –
I know that I cannot stay the same.
I know that – even if you cannot see it, He moves in me.
I know that whatever chaos is inside me, He always has His reasons for creating me this way.
I know that He never intended for me to be any living Soul but me.
I long to Write until I get it done.
I want to Write until I have said what He intended me to.
I will keep Writing what spills of me in self-expression and truth.
I will Write until I am no longer able to . . .
She told me that if I really Loved God
I would not ink my body .
She told me that if I dared get my tattoo
Then He would not Love me .
She told me that a true Christian
Would never defile her body like that .
And so I said nothing
And I showed her my back .
I am exactly who I am
For the exact reason that God
I was put on this Earth to Live
The way that He designed it .
All of this is part of my walk
With Him .
And if she doesn’t get it
Then she never belonged here
To begin with .
I’m up late
But it doesn’t bother me
Because for the first time
In a long time
My head doesn’t ache
I’m not tortured by my own thoughts
Of guilt and shame
I’m not brought low by
The weight of my own pain
I am quite content
To sit here in the quiet hours
Where everybody else is sound asleep
Like I’m the only living being
And the silence is calming
As it settles on me
Like a warm blanket
I’m comforted by its weight on me
To know that even though
There is some reprieve
That for once
My Heart and Mind have reached an accord
And as I sit here
There is no turmoil or confusion inside of me
It’s these days right here
That I live for
To know that one day
My peace will last evermore
And I won’t have to be put down to feel it
I will live through every night
I will rise
And breathe in it…
There are some parts of myself that I dared not share
Because I know it would be too much for the people there
Not because they don’t have the emotional capacity to bare it
Because they do – and still, they would go running scared –
When that happens, I hold it in
And put on my mask and I keep pretending
I work my words around the silent scream
And keep my inner darkness within the confines of my skin –
– for fear of judgment
For the fear of the mispronounced Word.
For fear of being misinterpreted.
For fear that I won’t be heard.
For the annoyance of the misplaced focus.
That they may hear my accent and not my Words.
And so I mumble in quiet.
And hope that one day –
One . Day . . .
When do we even call it success?
Is it in the million views or – maybe when you’ve touched the mind of just one?
I am one.
And I prayed for just one.
One is enough to make a difference.
One Word read could stop someone from ending it.
One Word written could calm someone from the violence of their inner storm.
One Word said, could produce a smile.
One Word heard could stop someone’s tears, if just for a little while.
And One Word read could save someone’s world . . .
And maybe that’s why we shouldn’t quit.
Because ultimately, that’s what it’s all about though, isn’t it?
You were given this insane gift that allows you to work magic just by stringing Words together.
No effort on your part to weild it.
I have had, just one.
For that one, I have succeeded . . .