amwriting · creative freedom · free form · inspiration · poetry · women · writeyourstory · writing

Your Writing Voice

 

How much of writing is re-writing? How much of living is re-living?

I sip my coffee. I remember the voice inside of me croaking out; she’s hoarse; she’s deep; she’s poised. I remember shouting for someone to love me. Men. All of them. Love me. I remember this voice changing. Going dark for boys with sharp eyes. Going dim for boys who cried louder. Boys who didn’t need to love. Boys who could never love a changeable voice.

I remember how deep and soft and sound she was. Like a round belly—lay your cheek down and forget. Forget the boys. Forget the rim around your eyes turning red. Lay your troubled head down.

She is mama-nature.

I remember her kicking up dust, saying run. Run across the desert. Break a rock. Make noise.

You’ll find a land of milk and honey. Walk the edge of an ocean that is swallowing up the coast.

Your voice—like a breeze—she will carry the deep echo of all things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s