Rebellion and the Silenced Voice | Word Meditations 2/366

The years I did not speak where the years I hurt the most.

What is rebellion but the power of the voice finding physical expression against its suppression?

What is personal rebellion but the trapped voice breaking out through the rib cage and lashing the body?

The say I’ve always been independent, not knowing I was merely alone.

They say I’ve always been strong, unawares that they were looking at my stronghold.

They say I’m opinionated, not realizing that I had to scream to silence the voice.

That voice that with every breath threatened to leave my gut, sip into my chest, and kill the black little heart I can’t leave without.

That voice that quashed my childhood when I gasped at the sight of what I never should have seen.

That voice that robbed my innocence when I told on a scene I never should have witnessed.

That voice that tore me apart, limb for limb, when I said the wrong thing, angering the wrong adult.

That voice that tore my family apart, member from bitter member, when it put words between us where only silence should have been.

I used to wonder if silence could have saved us all. More silence. Muffled silenced. Murderous silence.

And silent —

I could never keep silent, though I would never speak — secretly suffering the rebellion of the word concealed.