When I woke my voice was brittle—
The words came out,
but were easily broken.
I then sifted through the debris and emptied the sand from my hands, made up of
messages that, when undelivered,
had turned to dust.
With my warm dry hands I gently held my
throat and let my hands speak “you may not know how to voice
but I give you time. I give you space.
Your voice matters. Never give up. Let anyone try to silence you, but you will never again do it to yourself.”
*is anyone else having trouble with the editor? I did a copy and paste of my poem and the formatting would not fill one solid block. I’m not being too picky about format right now, because it’s not convenient to be. It expresses enough on its own.