We chose each other my voice and I. Together we would rise, together we would fall.
One day, I closed the doors to my voice’s expression. I begged, “Please, stay there, where you will be protected from judgement. I promise you, one day when I’m strong, I will release you. I promise you, together we will rise again.” Shame locked me away from my voice. The day came, I got stronger. A little being birthed from the mouth of my feminine. It would take 21 months to see the symbolism of the two. The mouth of my feminine, my mouth, my vocal cords. Look and see how the two resemble. The vagina, the mouth. Both wounded. I began to bring attention to “fixing my wounds” because the later meant turning to stone. I would be the woman that I closed the door to that day, long ago. This time no one had any right over me. My daughter would grow knowing her mom as a fulfilled dreamer, story-teller, poet, songstress.
She would take the courage of a lion as her own, her lineage.
Her pocket of treasures, these would remind her of love and her dreams would always be realized.