Untitled

July 13, 2003

My voice is found, lying amongst the ruins of my life.
My voice is running out of me in streams of broken thoughts.
I'm speaking like I have just been given vocal chords.
The days of my silence have ended.
When I dripped with secrets and their weight was enormous,
I could say nothing but the least of my worries.
I worried people because my worries seemed so small.
There were a million things I needed to say.
There were things that could have explained why
I struggled with violent and crippling emotions.
I was far too quiet for far too long.
In those times, it was easier to creep out of my mind.
It was so easy to pour these things into a void
than to force myself to talk about the pain.
The bed was my womb, and sleep was my real escape from life.
I remembered everything, but could not think about those things long.
But I opened myself wide.
I wrote it all down.
I talked about it, too.
It all came out of me.
I found I had to say it.
I had to be validated.
In the years that have passed, I used someone else's voice
to get out of me these horrible things.
I gave to someone else, all these feelings.
Someone who fed off of the effects of my silence.
It was in someone else I first found a voice.
Yours was the voice I never had.