Poem: To Speak in My Own Skin

I am the hush before a storm,
the whisper buried in a crowd—
a question trembling on the tongue,
too soft to be allowed.

Yet still, I rise through every thread
of silence stitched in fear,
to sing the notes I never said,
and make my meaning clear.

I am the pulse beneath the page,
the ink that stains the soul,
the ache of truth that will not age,
the need to be made whole.

A prism shattered into light,
not broken, just revealed—
my shadows dance with honest grace
where shame once stood concealed.

I do not ask to be approved,
nor promise to be tame.
My voice was not designed for chains,
my fire not meant for shame.

I speak in storms and quiet winds,
in laughter, grief, and flame—
and every time I say my truth,
I answer to my name.

Thank-you for reading.

Much Love and Light,

Brenda Marie