| There are words inside my head that are spoken by | | | | while stabbing me under my shoulder blade with a |
| different voices. They want out, these words voices. | | | | knife so long it cuts through my head and sticks out |
| They scream of independence, curiosity, acceptance. | | | | of my left temple. She then returns to my body, |
| I have ignored them for as long as I can remember. I | | | | hoping she has my attention. She waits impatiently. |
| am thirty-two years old and in pain every day; | | | | She knocks on my eardrums with constant popping |
| physical pain that seems to have no stimulus besides | | | | between her temper tantrums that stomps on a |
| stress. I believe that truth prevails, even if only in our | | | | nerve, sending waves of muscle spasms through my |
| own mind. Life and truth will no longer allow me to | | | | neck. I feel like I am choking, while hurricane forces |
| conceal my words. They are forcing my voices to | | | | of tremors roll across my jaw, until they become the |
| express the truths of life. | | | | great ocean of constant spasms across my soft and |
| Inside my soul, and the trivial amount I know about | | | | hard palette.Then I remember to breathe. I have |
| her, is a tsunami of rampage. She wants to shine and | | | | been holding my breath for so long that I forget to |
| not be afraid to be who she is.She rests on my left | | | | breathe. I come back to the moment that is |
| shoulder so heavy that the knots follow the full | | | | occurring external to my mind and it is nearly |
| length of my trapezium, fiber after fiber. She does | | | | impossible to focus on anyone or anything. I know if |
| not sit peacefully. She pulls my head to her mouth, | | | | this life I created continues, I will die. |