Our Stories Matter


I wrote this poem a few weeks back and put it up in the poetry forum of Legendfire for some critiques. It helped me polish it up a bit and trim some unneeded lines and stanzas. I wrote it because of a day, where a former friend left me feeling like I didn’t matter. That my story didn’t matter, and how they defined me was more important than my own words.

This poem is to fight that view. To recognize those that have not yet found their voice to speak their stories. This is for you, that you may find your strength — the strength that’s hidden inside you, waiting for you to tap — and share your story in a place where people will respect, love, and accept you as you are.

Our Stories Matter
by A. Zingler (a.k.a Bird)

Each of us
has a story to share.
Many a time we hide it
behind closed doors, shuttered windows
deep in the bowels of the earth, in caverns
so vast we can’t find the route home.

How can we share?

Won’t we be pinned
to the wall like butterflies caught,
examined as trophies
never to feel the sun’s rays
against our fragile wings?

We don’t want to be judged.
To be told we’re wrong
broken, lost, or stupid
that if we did this
or that
we’d have escaped the
terrifying, painful experiences
we wished we never had.

The countless rules must be checked,
the list rolls endlessly from our hands,
bumping and tumbling down streets paved
with the blood of millions
who suffer in silence
afraid to speak.

Afraid to share tales of pain
that haunt our nights,
bombard our days.
How many of us
share only joyful and happy tales,
tales we struggle
to smile and laugh through
so no one
can see the scars we hold,
the wounds that still bleed.

We want our stories to matter,
our lives to hold meaning,
yet we forget, we forget in this toxic
society that barrages us with falsehoods —

No amount of rules,
no amount of advice
can stop the hands and body of a person
bent on destruction,
on domination.
It is not the victim’s fault
that such evil crushed their body, mind —
throttled them with pain and shame and horror.

When will the day come
where we focus not on victims
forced to live that list of
impossible rules,
but instead
on the criminals that shatter our boundaries,
that shove themselves upon us,
seeking destruction to fill their need for power,
for lust, for domination, for whatever
twisted reasoning they’ve used
to convince themselves
that violating another is their right.

When will the world stand up and recognize:
We all have a right to our own bodies.
We are not items to be used and discarded.
We are worthy of respect and dignity.
It is time to teach consent,
Teach consent not domination.

Our stories hold great power,
the power to transform,
to help others place themselves
in another’s shoes.
To see the world,
through the eyes of another,
is the core of empathy.

So I say to you,
“Speak!
Unleash words
freed
from the bounds of silence.

Here,
you
are
not
alone

Here,
you
are
recognized
respected,
accepted,
loved,
freed.

Your story matters.

Categories: Author, Poetry, WritingTags: , , , ,

2 comments

  1. yes, how true. We are all precious. We are all beloved. God, more then any thoughts we have of the God person, loves each of us.

    Like

  2. “Our stories hold great power,
    the power to transform,
    to help others place themselves
    in another’s shoes.
    To see the world,
    through the eyes of another,
    is the core of empathy”

    I love these lines!

    Like

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