The Perfect Muse

I once wore silence as a cloak to hide my heavy commitment to victimhood.

Mistaken as solace and protection, but there was no comfort to be found.

I found that the loudest void derived from a suppressed voice.

The walls were shallow and sharp as glass.

Yet the echo roared with the intensity of thundering in a tunnel.

Silence was deafening, draining, all consuming, cold.

Breaking that silence was Earth shattering.

But then a pin drop rang out as Heaven’s warmth embraced me.

Death to self destruction, I was cleansed by truth.

The fabric of lies I was told about myself unraveled.

Even the ones that I wore daily…

The base for my new material was woven with the softness of silk.

Articulated thoughts became pattern maps.

The stitching is now lined with grace, bound by the strength of love.

How does it fit? Mm…

Well, in one pocket I found my purpose was never meant to be voiceless.

The other, a reminder titled Rebirth; There is privilege in having a story to tell.

Honoring my testimony with first person narration fits more comfortably.

Radical honesty not rooted in shame provides breathability.

My lives, deaths, and ascension are solely mine to share organically.

I have more than enough material to share.

Now, dressed to the nines in protection so intricately designed for my own human experience

I thank the Higher Power, the ancestors, and self for being supreme seamstresses of the soul.

All Praise for being outfitted as universal model and the perfect Muse.