I wish I could write pretty. I wish I knew where the beautiful words were hidden so that I may expand my repertoire, to elevate it from the muddy water that has dirtied the lens through which I see life. I wish I spent more time floating in the breeze, getting to know the bird’s lexicon instead of filling myself up with sighs.
I wish I hadn’t spent so much time writing myself down, penning love songs for others and suicide notes for myself. Seeing the light of our galaxy shine in the eyes of another but condemning my own as black holes. My self-perceived darkness, reflected, amplified in broken mirrors. Gossiped rumours of the voices in my head, the sirens that sank me down but sang plenty of praises for everyone else.
I wish I had learned to look in the mirror without fear. To see and feel and believe that, yes! I am here and I am loud and my voice can do a lot more than just rattle my anxious bones. It can tell a joke, it can whisper affection, it can fill a room and silence you dead.
Give me walls and canyons and mountains off which to echo my voice. It spent too many years locked in a box.
My voice leaves me raw and exposed and I wouldn’t have it any other way. There is beauty in nakedness; vulnerability is armor. I’ve unsheathed my sword and with it went all inhibition. I stand naked on the battlefield we call life and my battle cry will carry me through the war. Through the night when the lights are few and far apart, when the siren song becomes faint in the distance, I must scratch and tear the melodies from my throat. I will sing for myself long before I expect someone else to.
My voice will carry me through. My voice will keep me alive. My voice is the elixir, the enlightener. I discovered my voice, and the rest of the beauty came with it.