End to Beginning

I was told my voice didn’t matter in a jungle of lions 

That my efforts were child’s play and I should go sit with the little kids 

That if I ever wanted to own anything, I should call myself the ruler of nothing 

And for a while

 I listened  

I played by the rules given by the older man in a fancy suit

Stayed quiet and controlled the need to scream so perfectly he actually believed I enjoyed it 

You see when the man in the suit says 

“ you are so beautiful when you are silent”

You find ways to be loud in school, in your group of friends, anything to be heard but not given attention 

A perfect complex sentence all formulated in efforts to be everything he does not like 

I constantly have a headache even in my best moments 

And I wonder if it’s the girl sitting with the little kids

Or the woman having a conversation with the lions hoping they wouldn't get hungry 

After 10 years of this headache, I am not sure which one is louder than the other 

There is some type of irony in finding peace in static 

How perfect it would be 

to be hated instead of loved 

A mist of sound waiting to be an actual voice 

 I attempted to be a voice for myself 

even when his hand wrapped around my neck and I was left without one 

He told me with the most sincere face I’ve ever seen a lion have and said “ I will teach you how to deal with being voiceless”

The knowing fact his actions were wrong in which I was too young to understand that people do things they know they aren’t supposed to 

He taught me to self-harm in the best of ways that I would later do without being caught 

His methods... I listened 

And for a while, I played by his rules 

Until I didn’t want to be a little girl sitting with the little kids 

I wanted to be a woman who didn’t fear sitting in a room filled with lions 

In my first attempt 

I told myself to cry 

and to allow myself to feel these emotions of betrayal, anger, depression, 

In short words... it was a mess 

My second attempt was accidental 

I woke up in the middle of the night crying uncontrollably and in instinct, I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen 

And in the dark, I began to write my anger, my pain, my disgust for myself

And before I realized I was writing words on top of each other

I stopped writing,  starred at the wall with my tears drying faster than they came down 

And I realized 

I will be okay 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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