For a while

my words seemed

to not be heard.

They seemed

to lash out

against each other,

for a while,

as the anger tried to find

its place,

as all that wasn’t right

found its way

to the surface.

And so I began to honor

all these fractured pieces

and assure them

that they did indeed belong,

that they were heard

in me.

And I freed them.

I let them go,

set them free —

trusting them to come back

a little less fractured,

in way that could be heard,

in whatever form needed —

to keep speaking

what was true,

perhaps  a little

more gently

or more directly

or with just enough

passion and restraint —

until they fell silent —

into the place

where there was

no more distance

between the speaking

and the listening.