They Call Me Whispers

I once had an uncle who called me whispers…

He didn’t stick around long enough for me to find out if we’re related — However, the name did.

Like a moth to a flame, it seemed like the perfect code-named for me since I kept my volume to a minimum.

And even as I grew up,

no other name bore the perfect synonym.

So til’ this day I don’t:

Speak to loud;

Don’t yell too often;

I’m not a fan of too much “rah rah” — unless I hear “yerrr” or the night calls for it.

But despite my quiet nature, there’s a lot brewing in my mind at all times.

These thoughts catch in the bottom of my throat;

And instead of speaking, I write to cope with the syllables waiting to bubble over in piping hot vulnerability.

This comes as a result of years of insecurity that taught me to keep that heat down in fear of scolding others…

But these days I’m starting to wonder

What it would feel like to let it all out.

To say “screw a whisper”,

and learn how to shout.

As tempting as this sounds,

that transition doesn’t come easily.

For my mind and mouth are constantly at odds thanks to people pleasing tendencies.

The phrase:

“If a tree falls down while no one is around to hear it, does it even make a sound?”

Acts as a great example and remedy.

It permeates my mind every time I move to speak;

Yet reminds me to try and make my presence known, even if it’s no small feat.

So forgive me, if I look deep into your eyes to make sure that you hear me.

I don’t want to risk you missing the subtle nuances that sneak through my words sincerely.

Because despite my voice often getting lost in the wind—

Especially when I speak too fast or on a whim —

I know in my spirit I have something meaningful to say.