Echoist

Echoist

for many years 
I shrunk and silenced myself
because I was afraid
afraid to take up space 
afraid to grow a spine
afraid of my own loud voice
and afraid to sound confident
or—heaven forbid—arrogant

for so many years I muted my colourful plumage
and trimmed my feathers down to make more room
for others to be bigger and brighter than me
I favoured shadows over spotlight and resentfully lingered there 
I've hidden behind my pen and my notebook
when what I really wanted was to share
to connect
to be heard
to be my most vibrant self
to stop saying "I think"—when really I know
my dark cave is not where I hear the echoes
for I am quiet there
I hear them when I emerge into sunshine and fresh air
into a world where I should be free to spread my wings
and let the wind show me how far I can fly

I step outside a lot more these days
here I am typing out the words in my notebook
to share with everyone who wants them
but I still cringe at my passionate presence
and I still whisper songs that I want to belt right out 
for fear of hearing my own jarring, noisy echoes
what if the reflections of my voice look exactly like them?
the narcissists who first stifled my song
by shouting their shame into me