Voice

I sat down to write tonight with all the words tangled up inside. They hug each other holding on for dear life. Hiding behind my discomposed intestines peeking out in terror. My words bustle restlessly as I go through my day. I pour down my scorching thoughts of insecurity to settle the convulsing words back to a place where I won't feel them anxiously working to hide from my fingers. Lest these tentacles clumsily make their way to the keyboard or pen and come back looking for every last letter.

Words trapped and deep-seated in a red velvet cloak of perfection keep me from reaching for the letters to spell out my thoughts with curious questions. Bridges I might never construct and connections short-circuited by my disquietude of saying something wrong, presenting inaccurate data, affirming an unjust narrative, or letting my privilege hang out too far past my browness. I let the words popcorn around like nervous kernels of ideas, contemplations, and intuitions bracing for their metamorphosis.

Polyglot graphemes weep imploring me not to seek them out. A forthright set of agape letters settle into their constructed formation I a m a p e r s o n o f c o l o r i n t h i s c o u n t r y a n d w h i t e i n m y c o u n t r y, are braided with the tightly wound verdict that wails "ridingamotorcycleerraticallyisnotgroundsforexecution!" They wallop my gut with outrage as I sit here reluctantly typing and trying to find the letters to make words so I can unfold sentences that might one day chisel a passage to my voice. A day when each letter in his name T E R R E N C E S T E R L I N G will be gently resurrected from its embrace with the percussive beats of my bleeding heart.

Until that day, may this be a seedling implanted for the birthing of unraveling creations.