The Truth About Words

The dilemma of finally finding her voice

Was that it was not enough

Simply to speak


This voice

Which had lain dormant

Inside of her for so long

Lost under unrelenting responsibilities

An overdeveloped superego

The weight of roles such as “wife”

As “mother”

As “worker bee”

Rarely “woman”

Rarely even “human being”

Had become voracious


What she thought was merely a trickle of words

Activated by the injustices of the world

And the ache it awoke in her heart

Had grown rapidly into the flow of a kitchen tap

When given some room

It then grew into the steady stream of water

From a garden hose

It then threatened to explode

Like water from a fire hydrant

Or perhaps with the ferocity

Of a river long damned

Obliterating all real and imagined obstacles

In its path


She had not known

Had not realized

That all of this lay inside her

Coiled with tension

Waiting for that small crack

That would allow

Those first tentative words to seep out


She had exposed those first words

To air

To light



Not knowing if anyone would see them

Would read them

Would connect to them

Would understand


It was thrilling and scary

When she realized that her words

Had an audience outside

Of her own inner ear

But then that audience

Although bigger than any other

She had ever had

Was not enough

The time she put aside for the words

Was not enough


Her voice

So long suppressed

Demanded more and more

It whispered to her

In the middle of the night

It spoke to her on her morning commute

It sang to her in the shower

Causing her to be late

Because she had to write these words down

Before they slipped down the drain, lost forever

The words started to call out when she at work

When she should have been doing other things

Begging for acknowledgement


She did not know what to do

With all these words

Which were now



Colliding into each other

Racing through her brain

Spilling onto the screen

Written in ink on the margins of paper

On her very skin

Always demanding more


Saying over and over again

A mantra that cut through the din:

“We are your truth

Your truth can no longer be contained

Your voice must be heard.”


18 thoughts on “The Truth About Words

  1. Thank God that the words came. As an aside, I either try to start a text, use the voice recorder, and copy things what pops up at inopportune times. I have also learned that sometimes I have to ignore them. Idk how many poems I’ve lost over the years because there wasn’t time for them. I don’t do that anymore 😀

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you OldePunk! I kept writing the same first line of a poem (“I am a run-on sentence”) in notebooks all over the house so I wouldn’t forget it and Kevin told me that after a while he started thinking that he should just write the damn poem because the sentence was starting to haunt him. The creative process is certainly capricious.

      Liked by 1 person

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