My words feel trapped,

Like they can’t get out

My words feel trapped

I can’t hear myself shout

My words are trapped

By another shoving them back down my throat

As they threaten to silence my lonely voice

As if I had a choice in who I am

If I stop writing, I fear I will stop breathing, will stop bleeding, will cease

Being who I’m meant to be

And if I stop believing

That I am anything less than worthy of love

If I believe what others perceive about me

If I give in to all the straight hate that’s been heaped upon me

I will die a slow death–a slow death in silence

As I swallow the words in my head

That never left my heart

Because others controlled me.

Never again will I not bleed from my pen

Because you thought you controlled me.

You do not own me.

You do not dictate how my story goes

As it flows from my wounded soul

From this pen that cannot stop writing

About where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what has happened

At the hands of men who tried to destroy me inside

As I cried without tears, gave into my worst fears:

that I am nothing just because they told me so.

Told me that I didn’t belong in this song of humanity screaming out

That God created more than one narrative,

All fitting together into the bigger, beautiful rainbow of experiences that don’t all look the same.

Because the God I know takes all this pain, this blame, this shame

And makes it into something worth of love.

I am no more unworthy of it than someone whose story has fewer scars than mine.

I am worthy of love–love that says, I bled so you wouldn’t have to bleed.

And I make you worthy of this love no matter what love you thought you knew.

I am through listening to anything less than love.

Love is not love if it’s not for everyone. If it’s not for every daughter, son, every down and out drowned out voice that hasn’t been heard now speaks up to say:

This is the day we are heard. Hear us say this:

We are loved today. We are so very loved.