Day 8 - Searching for a voice

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In 2018, I was invited to speak on a panel at the first symposium of the Critical Pedagogy in Creative Arts Therapies group. At that panel presentation I read this poem which I had written several years prior to the meeting.  I am reminded of this poem, as I write new poems, as I try to find my voice. 

 

Also, check out Joshua Bennett's work - https://www.drjoshuabennett.com/ 

The link below is to his poem that inspired mine.

 

A manifesto

            After Joshua Bennett

 

“Say it” you command

sing it

 

and yet

I seem to have lost my voice

I seem to have lost

The very thread

That I wrapped around my finger

So that I wouldn’t forget

 

That I am beautiful

That you are worthy

Of trust

 

The very thread

That runs through my

Story

 

What is my story?

 

Make it

You say

Take it

You say

Trust the process

You say

 

And yet

Trust

is a word

that sounds so trite

in my ears

 

I cannot even trust

What I hear

From inside my own heart

 

Oh, and I am deaf too

My ear drums

Have been silenced

 

The ramparts red glare

The bombs bursting in air

Have seemed to burst those

Drums in my ears

 

I cannot find myself

In the American dream

I have become a zombie

 

The night of the living dead

Has become my default station

 

My waylay

My way

stay

 

Maybe there are drums

That can talk to my soul

That can wake up my heart

 

Voodoo drums

Like those that

Frankie sang about

Do do that voodoo

That you do so well

 

Do something to me

 

Make me

Wake me

Shake me

 

What will it

take me

To revive

 

To revise

This script

I can’t seem to

stray from

 

I can’t seem to

Unbind myself

Undo myself

From this mistrust

 

This mistake

I’ve staked my heart upon

 

This misappropriation of funds

I have mislaid

 

I am spent

 

Too tired

I am tired

Of trying

Of living

This dream

That promised me

The pursuit of happiness

 

I seem only to have

Been given the pursuit

I have been hunted down

By my ghosts

 

I have been

Held up

By my kin folk

 

They sit there

With their accusing finger

Pointed

at my heart

 

You are not

Entitled

To an endless supply

 

You are not

Entitled

To the right

To speak your mind

 

You are not

Entitled

 

To a voice

That speaks American

 

You are not

Entitled

To spend your trust

On something

You cannot name

You cannot speak

You cannot keep

Making

Something

Out of nothing

 

4/30/15

 

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