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
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