Grasshoper

I want to tell you all of the things that I needed telling to me. I want to tell you that your stories and voice are important even though you are not backed by massive bank accounts.

I want to tell you that you are interesting and unique and thoughtful and that just because people don’t always listen does not mean that the words aren’t there. There is a surplus of them in you and in and all of us. Our words are the things were made of.

So how is it possible that some of us including myself believe(ed) so adamantly that we have nothing moving share? It’s because that’s what we were told by the big voices, the older voices, the male voices, the important voices. These voices are so vulnerable in their loudness that the very entrance of a small voice threatens them.

I cannot count the times I have been discredited and spoken over. Yes, I have allowed it to make me quiet on the outside, I mean every specifically the outside, but the silence does not penetrate me.

You know that sound you hear when you put in earplugs to drowned out the outside sounds. It’s you. You hear you. You hear your heart pounding and blood rushing. You even feel a tiny pulsating in your inner ear that is an urge to escape. You have plugged the hole to the outside but something on the inside beats against the earplug asking for freedom.

I think it’s our voice.

For every moment I spend listening to people tell me how things should be and how I should be, my not-so-little voice feels angry.

It was like that time I was walking in the yard when I was a kid. I intercepted the path of a flying tiny grasshopper and it flew straight into my ear. I was horrified. I did not move to get it out in fear of pushing it deeper.

Its scratching sounds rattled my mind as I felt it fight to find its way out and then it was back into the world, living to fly into someone else’s ear another day.

That grasshopper reminds me of my own voice and eventually your voice has to find a way out or it will and fight for eternity.