I have so much to say, but my voice struggles to be heard. It stagnates within my throat; a firm-hand choke in the making. Frustrated, I rise to my feet, leaving the comfort of the old leather chair that my mother gave me. I walk to my door, emboldened by the sunlight, peering at me through broken rain clouds that hover over the land of  Mayberry.

Door open, before an audience of pines, I force captive words to come forth… to find bravery in the fact that they exist… offering them the opportunity to believe in themselves. I begin to speak to my silent judges. Voice loud, I empty my heart into my own, small, universe. Minding my posture, graceful conviction resonating throughout the East Texas woods, until there is nothing more to say. Then, I turn away from the pines and take my place, once again, in the old leather chair that my mother gave me.


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