Finding voice

Finding voice…

Be tells me to keep writing

Cait tells me to just write

My past tells me I can’t write

Fear writes for me

Anger writes the loudest, and is most prolific

Joy is silent, nearly invisible

Sadness drones on and on

Pain is sharp, isolated, and intense

Journals are scattered about my home

Tossed into the recesses of the car

They harbor numerous attempts of binge/purge

When moving I will devalue their loyalty

As I shove them through the shredder

The ghosts of childhood critique every effort

They silence me with threats to expose my failure

Deep inside the struggle

To break through the barriers

Quakes with revelatory thunder



Author: Léa

A wanderer who has found home and herself in the South of France.

7 thoughts on “Finding voice”

  1. As always you give my inner self a voice, even better than I can. What a gift to us, your readers. “the ghosts of childhood critique every effort” really struck home. My father was a newspaper editor, brilliant, but coming from a different place…..took a long time to value my voice enough to risk it. Thank you so much for sharing from your heart, which speaks to, and even for, mine.

    1. Thank you Eileen. There is not a higher compliment and it is much appreciated.

      I simply do the typing. It is my heart that dictates what you read.

  2. So you have heard the Tuesday Morning voice inside my head? I have lived so many years that I can actually muster a laugh at it some days, ignore it others, and just acknowledge it and keep writing. But every once in awhile it grabs my full attention and I end up wasting my opportunities and precious few hours to listening. I have come to the conclusion, all of this is probably what most people who create go through.

    Most don’t articulate it as well as you did in this poem though. Just excellent.
    Thank you.

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