By. DeAnza Spaulding

I am not free until
I can hear my voice and not curl my nose

I am not free until

I can hear my voice and not feel hot with shame

I am not free until
I can hear my voice in a recording
and not criticize and demean

And not say you dumb dumb broken thing

I am not free until

I no longer cringe

I am not free until
I let my thoughts and opinions flow

—until I speak without self-sensor

—until the filter is decimated

I am not free until
I sing in all the keys

— uninhibited in all the keys

I am not free until
the second guessing is eliminated
until the doubts subside and release from the fringes

I am not free until
your voice no longer dictates how I hear mine

I am not free until your opinions no longer matter

god knows I have been fighting to be free

damn if I haven’t been trying to shove you— to be free

but then someone asks me, “what do you think”? and what is your story”? And I freeze

I remember how you told me sweet girls don’t have thoughts
I remember you telling me that my blouse was one button too many undone
I remember you dissecting my ideas with such precision I didn’t even detect the invasion

and fuck if I don’t find myself triggered

I am not free until
I am not triggered

I am not free until
I can see that this is my courage

I am not free until
I can trust my inner wisdom

I am not free until
my quirks and stylings are embraced (by me)

I am not free until
the guilt evaporates

I am not free until
the heat from my breath—

And fuck if I’ll let you have me

Even if I’m broken I’d-rather-die-broken-than let you have me.

And maybe you thought I’d twist into oblivion

Maybe you hoped I’d keep shrinking until I was— dragged – and wind

And this is my voice—hear it—

I won’t be buried and so

I keep rising until I am free

DeAnza is a mother, lover, sojourner, trauma therapist, feminist, international psychologist, researcher, human rights advocate and spiritual seeker of truth. She identifies as a brown, queer woman.