This voice in my head is never quiet. It yammers and coos. It murmurs and cusses. It is a familiar friend and formidable foe. It never lets the silence hang between us for long.
This voice urges me to write. Writing gives it permanence and visibility. It is as though I can write it into existence and create a skeleton for it from the characters on the page. The keystrokes add a heartbeat and the gentle pauses between phrases are its breath. It comes alive with my typing and moves outside of my body and onto the page. My voice is no longer imprisoned behind my eyes and we can both see it plain as day before us.
This voice seems so much a part of me and yet apart. It often feels like a second self, someone who says things to me that no one would say to someone they love. I don’t have another voice to respond and find myself mute when it lashes out. And when it paints pictures with words through poetry I stand back in awe as though I am watching a performance just like you would.
This voice demands to be heard and yet has no mouth of its own. It must use me and my fingers to give it sound. Though it sounds so loud in my head you don’t even raise an eyebrow when it yells at me and shouts profanity at the situations of our lives.
This voice gets louder the more I don’t write. It becomes almost incoherent. The words become so plentiful that they swirl jumbling over each other and pile up behind the dam of silence until I release the pressure. I write to create more space and share the writing with you.