No censor

I had gone to the pinecone mud hut alone,

without the others.

With them I had felt exposed, unsafe.

The sturdy spine of the hut, formed by the tree arching

its power above,

the strong branches, lashed together with ropes, forming its ribs,

didn’t embrace me then.

Its chest couldn’t hold my voice.

But now, alone, it’s quiet here, and safe.

Private.

I arch my back, my body following the tree spine in a silent dance.

I lift my face,

spread my arms wide to catch every strain of the music

swelling inside of me.

A voice I’ve never heard before becomes my own.

And I sing! Sing!

No fear of censor. I am safe here.

Am I cracking up?

Maybe.

I allow myself to drown

in my own voice, my own music.

And by drowning, I am lifted.

Lifted to a higher, purer place.

A place without censor.

A place that just is.

I am safe here.

I am safe here

A place that just is.

A place without censor.

Lifted to a higher, purer place.

And by drowning I am lifted.

In my own voice, my own music,

I allow myself to drown.

Maybe.

Am I cracking up?

No fear of censor. I am safe here.

And I sing! Sing!

A voice I’ve never heard before becomes my own,

swelling inside of me.

Spreading my arms wide to catch every strain of the music,

I lift my face,

my body following the line of the tree in a silent dance,

I arch my back.

Private.

But now, alone, it’s quiet here, and safe.

It’s chest couldn’t hold my voice,

didn’t embrace me then.

The strong branches, lashed together with ropes, forming its ribs,

its power above.

The sturdy spine of the hut, formed by the tree arching.

With them, I had felt exposed, unsafe.

Without the others,

I had gone back to the pinecone mud hut alone.

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~ by ReluctantRunner on March 31, 2008.

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