Let shame melt
let her breathe
let her relax
feel her soften
let her soften those tight knuckles
that clutch so tightly
the curtains of secret.
feel her fear
and listen to her words
for her energy is true
even when her time is due.
Consider her fear
in manner true and clear
and honestly inquire, my dear,
how tragic would it be
if others would fully see
what you continue to hold inside.
Your wordless pain
Your discarded love
Your unrighted wrongs.
Your truth.
What would then transpire, my dear,
in this world your hurt still fears?
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Consider.
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Feel.
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F'real.
Only then will dutiful shame yield
to your conscious appeal.
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And if your secret be let out
from its dark hidden cave,
may you give it ease.
May it drain in peace
as whatever helps you release.
An inner pop and a squeeze,
a gasp, a moan, and a sob
a whine, rising tears, a bawl.
Allow completely that pain to be told
with whichever language it holds.
And if its chamber was kept at high pressure,
paining in silence, compressed to the core,
that first pop will likely be prone to explode.
That may be its true language
for its truth to be told.
When such is the outcome, and such it may cause,
take care that its "violence" not violate those
that act as your witness, or that stumbled upon
your high-pressure chamber unwitting thereof.
Cognize that the cause of much pain is but harm
Intended or not, it bleeds and causes alarm.
Our bodies feel hurt and protect it with fear,
and that's just what became your chamber, my dear.
So do not harm others with your sudden grenade,
keep mind that their hurt provides you no gain.
Direct your expression, whatever you resent,
to the infinite space into which you can vent.
Let anger, if present, distort not into blame,
that sharp-pointed arrow intended to shame.
Unmindful reactions may spit the ferment,
but full cleansing requires a conscious intent.
Be true and be bold, you need nothing hold,
the secrets you keep in require constant toll.
But whether you quiet it, or gift it a voice,
I pray that it be but your own conscious choice.
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