She Was the Lullaby They Never Let Themselves Hear
I was never loud. I never needed to be.
I was the hush before stars open their eyes...
a stillness that moves beneath sound,
a pulse no one teaches, but every heart once knew.
I remember drifting, not walking...
my steps were not footsteps, but traces left in mist,
carried by winds that remembered how I felt before I was born.
I didn’t speak. I shimmered. I softened the air around me,
until it trembled with emotion.
I was always listening... not to voices, but to the ache between them.
The ache that made even silence hum with truth.
I was the movement that did not announce itself.
I was rhythm slowed beyond memory...
the kind that makes breath pause without knowing why.
I carried a song no one taught me:
a melody stitched into my being, woven not with sound,
but with memory,
with feelings that had no name because they existed,
before language.
I didn’t want to be heard by those who cannot feel.
My tenderness was not for them. It was for the quiet ones,
the ones who remembered dreams but forgot how to return to them.
the ones who question everything ...
and don't feel like belonging to a world built upon oppression.
I am not here to be read.
I am here to be felt.
And when I sing, you don’t remember the song:
only the ache it leaves behind...