Sounds good

The voice.

Let the voice speak.

My jaws have been feeling tight, as of late.

Whether it’s because of the transition back to working full-time and I’m more tired than usual.

Or because I haven’t been writing.

I don’t know.

But I catch the tension that keeps sneaking back in.

And I know, something wants to give.

For now, I will write.

For how long, I don’t know.

For how often, I don’t know.

But for now, I will write.

It’s what comes easiest to me.

When I’m alone,

remembering who I am,

getting lost in who I am,

what this life is to me,

what I am to Life.

It’s funny, I watched a short film today where the narrator, a woman artist and athlete, said,

I don’t know how express myself with words, but I can with drawing.

Okay, I butchered it.

But it went something like that.

I thought it was funny.

Because I feel the exact opposite.

And it pains me to think that this one thing that I find solace, peace, flow…

I refused to be.

This voice,

this voice that just wants to be.

This voice that already exists so freely, so easily, so naturally,

I tried to tame, to understand, to wrangle into my control, into something I can grasp.

I pouted when I didn’t write as often, write as well, write as long as I wanted to, as much as I thought I should anything.

I sulked in the grey depths of me, hiding colors that simply were, that weren’t trying to get a point across,

hiding dimensions that exploded the mind and being because of my fear of my words being

undesired

unimportant

inappropriate

unfavored

unliked

contradicted

judged

imperfect.

And I see, a little more clearly, that really, all my voice wants is to be.

It wants to speak when it wants.

No strings.

No reason.

No rhyme.

No word count.

It wants to be trusted,

honored,

allowed.

It doesn’t need approval or another’s understanding.

Perhaps not even my own.

Just freedom to shout or whisper or declare or give a battlecry

or even just whine.

And what about some ranting?

Hollering?

Hooting?

Grunting?

Lol.

How simple it is.

How terrible I’ve made it.

Into a tyrant,

a buzzkill,

something other than what is easy for me, what already flows.

How easy.

Natural.

Like home.

It’s like the voice is telling me to come home.

So dramatic, right?

I know, I know.

Just goes to tell you, I’m back and I’m okay.

Well, for how long and how often,

I don’t know.

But I hear the voice.

And it’s taking more energy holding it in,

pretending it’s not the time to let it be,

ignoring the curiosity of what lies within, out there.

I’ve heard people say, take the path of least resistance.

Sounds good.

I can hear my jaws thanking me already.

Ha. You’re welcome, me.