The Herald

I think I have a long standing silence, a fear of saying what I feel, emotions, I have no trouble expressing thoughts or opinions, that’s easy but speaking about the depth of the soul, what makes me tick and come undone at the seams, the trigger points, the frailty. I find it easier to leave the door closed, to not tap into the realm of the heart and soul. I know that it’s not healthy and I know all the reasons why I should let the cork out and that what I’m holding inside is my escape from my pain, for in talking there is freedom, there is relief but for the uninitiated there is trepidation, fear and nakedness, so silent I remain with the words on the prowl like a cat after a mouse.

I never learnt how to voice what I felt mainly because it didn’t feel safe to do so, in my family you kept your emotions close to your chest for their revelation could, no would be use against you in battle. Our family was rather caustic it burnt everything and everyone it came in contact with. So for self preservation you closed your mouth and watched the wheels revolve and the words would be swallowed up and consumed in bile. I saw everything, I heard everything but I said nothing about what I felt or of the fear that lived inside. Play it tough, never let them know what is real and what is false, in the lie you are safe as you can be. It’s an interesting way to grow up and as an adult you can see just how fucked up it was and how fucked up it has made you but also as an adult you can limit it’s impact. I have learnt that the hardest thing to speak about is me, not the me you see before you but the me that lives within the shell, the voice within that raises it’s head but is scared to utter a sound that is the me I know.

Hold my hand and help me, hold my hand and lead me into the light of me, hold my hand and protect me from the world, hold my hand when I cry out in truth of the unseen child within, hold my hand please.

That is the me, the one that needs affection, the one that needs companionship, the one that knows she is alone and only in revelation of pasts gone by will I find a friend and my place in the whole. My words are wounds that never healed that is why it’s so hard, they are still raw for they have seen no light to assist their recovery. As I step out of the dark into the manifestation of expression, I will find the voice I have heard inside my head all my life, maybe that is why I write because it is faceless, no one in front of me, no one to look upon my despair, no threat. My words are wounds that never healed, my voice is rarely heard. In the silence lays a truth a frozen spring waiting for the light to melt and the words to flow. Till then in the dark I shall sit with an outstretched hand.