She was silent
She whispered
She spoke
She asked
She yelled
She howled
She cried
She asked
She spoke one last time
The indifference of silence
She will be silent once more
Standing Still at the Speed of Light
Writing, true life, random facts and fiction
She was silent
She whispered
She spoke
She asked
She yelled
She howled
She cried
She asked
She spoke one last time
The indifference of silence
She will be silent once more
Hand across my mouth
Arm across my throat
Words slapped from my lips
These are things that stole my voice.
Speaking to the ether
Not being heard
being told ‘you didn’t say that, I don’t remember, that’s not the way it happened’
These are the things that stole my voice
‘Do not speak until spoken to, no one wants to hear your opinion, no one will answer your screams’
These are the things that stole my voice
Years of tangled compression, oppression these are the things that have stolen my voice I can raise my voice to stand for you
I can raise my voice to stand for social justice Hear the echos? They come loud and clear
But when it comes to self, when it comes to me , it fades to silence
The old compression, oppression, squeezing in, taking the air, taking the sound,
restricts, constricts
My wants, my needs, my feelings, my thoughts I want to stand firm to say NO
No that’s not what I want
No that’s not who I am
These are the things where I’ve lost my voice. The sticky weapons of violence and cruelty that is wound around my voice for years and years and years
Squeezing away the sound, the breath, the air this is the tangled mess I seek to undo
to breathe life
this is where I want to find my voice
this is where you will hear me clearly say
No these are the things that hurt
No these are the things I don’t want
Yes these are the things that are right
Finally my voice will match my world voice
I will be heard
I will be heard
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the pain is low and meek
If it rises before I wake
I pray for the right meds to take
Now I lay me down to sleep
It’s quiet here, so I can weep
The smile I wore all day was fake
It’s almost more than I can take
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray for rest, for I feel weak
Let the monsters be still, until I wake
So to the next morning I will make.
Inspired by my encounter with the old man at the train I was called to visit another Old Man on my way home.
Although my to do pile threatens to topple at any moment I had to take the time to come and see my steadfast friend.
He listens with out judgment. He does not tell me I’m dramatic. He lets me lean in, and does not shift away. He has seen my true broken self, heard my anguished cries, my whispers of joy, my tenuous hope and still welcomes me to the quiet safe haven.
I am sinking. I am in pain. I am overwhelmed. I am overwrought. I have failed at so much.
My words feel lost. I feel ungrateful. I feel selfish. I feel invisible. I feel exhausted. I weep at his feet. I try to slow my breath to match his ancient rhythm. I try hard to hear his message from the Gods.
For a moment there is stillness. For a moment the monsters stop talking. For a moment…….
As I take my leave, I let the late summer sun dry my tears. I give thanks for the gift he has been in my life. Off to do battle once more.

Am I crazy?
It feels that way- so much going on in my head.
Words. Whispered
Words. Screamed
Words. Held in
Because life moves forward. Things to do. Mundane to run.
How can this be? With a head so full. That everyday is still just, every day.
I closed my eyes to the sun. It’s early morning fire burning behind my lids. Do the Gods hear me?
I pray the heat ignites my determination. Keep moving forward, it’s the only place to go.
Pull the brambles from my cloak as I keep moving towards the light, away from this dark bog, fraught with prickles, poisonous thorns and things that bite from the shadows.
I call out, the echo answers.
Exhausted, my flesh longs to rest on the cool moss, allowing the bog to swallow me whole.
Slow through the mud, each step a 1000 pounds.
Will I find myself? Will I find the soul kin I believed were there? Was this all just a theatre for the trickster’s amusement?
When I was nameless, I could feel them, hear them.
I claimed my name, they faded violently from my grasp.
I open my eyes to the sun. Memories serve only to puncture.
The only message from the Gods is too keep moving, nameless once again.
This morning, while I drink my coffee I am trying to understand motivation. What motivates people to do what they do. Not the lifestyle stuff, eating well, exercise etc, but the motivation to be kind, mindful, or cruel, deceitful, helpful, or harmful.
Is there pleasure derived from being mean? causing harm? creating oppression? disconnection?
I know in nature animals will lash out when they feel threatened or are in pain. Aside from humans (and the occasional cat), very few species cruelly toy with each other for sport.
I think back over my life and all the experiences I have had. For better or worse, it seems to keep me more determined to be kind, thoughtful, engaged to truly see someone, to lend a hand, keep my heart open and to trust. I look at what I can be met with here, often it is joy, connection, creativity, challenge, growth, support. (my village❤️❤️)
But lately, my mission if you will, has lead me to the hard truths that my open heart, excitement, passion for connection, kindness, compassion will be misread, twisted, ignored, or turned back upon me to wound. This creates feelings of stupidity, sadness, and the wounded feel of trust being destroyed. It is here I get the urge, the urge to ‘be like everyone else’……
So what motivates me? To be seen. Not in a glorious, celebrity way, exalted, and worshipped. But to be seen for my heart, the love I offer to all, to be understood, my wounds, scars, how that has shaped me, recognized that I am far from perfect, but that I, like I believe most, just want to connect.
I am motivated by seeing the smile on someones face when they achieve something big for themselves.
I am motivated by seeing hope light someones eyes, where it was dim before.
I am motivated by the direct connection of a hug or holding someones hand, feeling the energy move between us. That direct link.
I am motivated by the relief on someone’s face when they realize that they are seen, accepted.
I am motivated to see the way I want to be seen, as a whole, flawed, worthy of compassion, love and understanding, creative being, waiting to connect.
I am motivated by love.
What do you hear when my lips part?
A passionate sigh
An orgasm not yet moaned
A banshee wail
A soothing word
A hard cut
Lies you want to hear
Truth you don’t
What do you see when you look in my eyes?
Passion and fire
Monster damaged shadows
Gentle loved reflection of who you are
Cold calculation
Uncried tears, waiting
Fool
Ancient knowledge
What is your instinct when you touch me?
Treasured
Owned
Used
Thrown away
Imprisioned
Gift
Freedom
Strip away artifice
Pull apart false ego
Honesty in flaws
Honesty in success
Honesty in pain
Honesty in joy
Trust the truth will connect
Trust that deep abiding love will prevail
Trust the forgiveness of damaged souls
Take off the mask
Wipe your eyes clear
Beauty is not in perfection
Perfection is in the flawed