Speak by Lyla Ashry

Posted on April 27, 2013 by

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     Each and every one of us has a distinctive personality; outgoing, patient, naïve, gullible, pessimistic, etc… Or so we believe. I myself am an outgoing person by nature, as well as all the characteristics I mentioned. Is it true? Can I subsist of so many characteristics in one figure? Perhaps, but I digress. I am a fearful and pessimistic soul; losing so much in one lifetime has that effect after all. I loathe this negativity and cover it, in hopes that no one will see the truth. I say what I do not feel and become someone I do not know. My outgoing nature begins to become a farce, and I do not speak for fear that my true colors will show.

 

Now there is a fragment of my spirit located within the core of my being that shouts and screams, begging to be released into the world; into my conscious mind. It speaks to me, of times when I was joyful and bursting with important words to say, and feelings that sometimes I wish I could release from the prison bars of my soul… but can’t manage to do. I am now on the verge of surrendering to myself – if that is what I may call it, and losing my voice altogether: losing my right to speak.

My words don’t seem to come from the heart any longer, and they sound sarcastic with a tinge of bitterness that sweeps my being now and then. Conversations become awkward and forced, and I feel like retching with every second I hold conversing, so I nod instead. Waiting for night to come so that I may cry and mourn all that I no longer own, and what I wish I had.

 

I wish for strength of words once again, and the ability to describe my self-loathing in words so that I may be rid of it. I pray to God for courage — courage to express my emotions in unbidden strings of verbal splendor. I beg and beg, waiting for something to happen and miraculously obliterate all the repulsive worms of insecurity that have been eating at my self-esteem for years.

 

Such a dream sounds so distant… I don’t know if I can reach it, and it breaks my heart to admit. Support is nonexistent to me, and it is my fault. I have created a barrier to protect what I felt was too fragile at the time, and it was my mistake to think that I would become stronger by doing so. The soul is so closely related to immunity; it requires experience to grow, and leaving my soul in seclusion only gave the opposite effect.

I am slowly rotting, and the pain of it is indescribable to anyone who has not felt it, so I would never wish such hurting unto another. I know that drowning in self-pity and loathing of oneself eventually leads to destruction, but when such a feeling surrounds me for so long, it becomes an addiction no matter if I detest it or not.

 

My life is at its end. I could not fight that which held me so close to its bosom, never wanting to let go. I found my comfort in it and am reaching imminent demise. I only plead one thing: When my body becomes no more, spread its ashes over those who I once loved, so that they may understand me and what I became later on.

 

I am now a living legacy that will be passed on from generation to generation. My feelings will live on and slowly heal with the passing of time, leaving me pure of the throbbing essence I once carried. When you feel your heart burn and your eyes sting with a feeling that only loneliness can bring, then you will know that my soul is there, coexisting with yours.

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