I’m mid-sentence in a story that takes time to tell.
I’m still finding the words.
The words that get stuck in my throat.
The words that are clenched in my fists.
I’m telling my story.
Sometimes, syllable by syllable—
finding strength
in every line.
I tap the mic…
It crackles like a heartbeat.
“Is this thing on?”
“Can you hear me?”
“Can you feel me?”
Sometimes I wonder if I’m shouting into the void—
a vast, indifferent darkness
that neither embraces nor rejects me.
Just…
echoes.
But still, I tell my story—
hitting the beats,
holding for laughs,
pausing for the pain,
and hoping someone,
anyone,
feels me.
