top of page

247: Tell Me

Tell me what you believe.

Don’t stop with the words

passed down like worn clothes,

words you’ve you’ve swallowed and absorbed

like melted candy in your mouth.

Bite into it.

Use your incisors.

Taste every convicted word

on your tongue.

Roll the phrases around in your mouth,

like a hard candy

and then tell me what you believe.

When it’s cold and dreary,

when the wind is blowing slant again the house

tell me what you believe.

Tell me how it feels

like a fire in your bones,

like a train headed towards home,

like wading into deep water.

Tell me how it keeps you up at night,

how some deep part of you knows this to be true.

Speak with conviction.

Don’t play small.

You’re a songbird.

This is your telephone wire.

Tell me, tell me, tell me.

Written by Sarah A. Speed // Writing the Good

Recent Posts

See All

248: Live From The Furbo

Every night we sit on the couch. Your arm around my shoulders, my knees pulled towards my chest. We eat dinner. We talk about the day. The dog sleeps, belly up nestled on top of our sock feet. And eve

sarah branding-hannah brii photo-69_websize.jpg

Hi, thanks for stopping by!

I'm Sarah (Are) Speed, the writer behind Writing The Good. I'm so honored you're here! To get more poems, follow @writingthegood on Facebook and Instagram! 

  • Facebook
  • Instagram
bottom of page