The voice inside my chest,
Riles my blue blood with
Every thumping pulse,
Warming me.
It softens my stiff spine,
Shoulders and dusty fists,
Undoing what I’ve sustained,
Disarming me.
It caresses my arid body,
Wets my cracking mind,
Like aloe on sunburned skin,
Alarming me.
I’ve heard the tone before,
Yet I still do not know
Whose voice this is
That calls me.
I know it’s not my own,
As I’ve never been one
To look upon myself and
Speak softly.
Nor is it my parents’,
As they have made it known
Only disappointment and grief
Define me;
That I’m scandalous, unworthy
Wayward and unloved.
This is what their voices
Have taught me.
I hear them all the time—
Accusations from within,
Echoing dark claims and
Taunting me.
I’ve learned to clench my fists,
Tense my back, my jaw, my chest—
To brace myself for their
Frequent hauntings.
But then I hear this voice
That outperforms the rest,
And to my barricaded heart
Speaks softly.
It taps upon the boards,
I’d carefully erected,
And calls my tarnished name
As if it knows me.
There’s kindness in its tone,
Like its always known my
Bruised and broken state, yet
Still loved me.
I tremble at this sound
That makes my muscles melt,
And I move to crack the door
Just slightly.
I peek and feel a rush
Of what I think must be love,
Then slam the door and break
With weeping.
Why is it kind when
Those I knew before
Were harsh, brittle, cold
And loathing?
Could it be the voice of God,
Who I heard is made of love,
Yet who my parents said
Would judge me?
They said His love, like theirs,
Is unconditional,
But only if I do what they
Command me.
Yet their commands were pain,
Would’ve crushed my soul if I obeyed.
So they turned and walked away;
Abandoned me.
I still hear their voice,
Harsh and full of scorn,
Ashamed of who I am,
Rebuking me.
But this voice I hear beside—
An antithesis of theirs—
Strokes my anxious heart, and
Calms me.
It whispers tender thoughts,
Of who it says I am, as if
It doesn’t even notice
The debris.
I think that it is God, or
Love or even Truth;
But to say this feels like
Heresy.
[If it is right; if it is true,
Love must not see me
as my parents do.]
I hear their voices shout,
“False!” as they point their
Stiff and righteous fingers
Down at me.
I groan and shut my eyes,
Press my head into to my hands.
Of these accusations, will I
Ever be free?
Again, I feel my pulse
Steady as it sounds —
The voice inside my chest
Speaks tenderly.
February 6, 2021