Someone told me once that I speak in clichés and I have been reflecting on that ever since.
Was it the way I curled my tongue when I told them that some of these words that I’m repeating have kept me alive for years?
Was it how I played with my lip when I stated that if I didn’t speak like this, my resilience would have trembled at the sight of the next mountain?
Was it how my teeth chattered when I explained that if I did not speak with what they qualified as cliché, if I did not voice my concerns through words that they felt were insincere, or if I had spent my whole entire life rewriting the narratives everyone has been wanting to put in my mouth for what feels like centuries – that I wouldn’t be here right now.
Because although what I say you might not fully believe, my words are not for you.
My words are for me. However, they are also for everyone who has ever felt less than, shrunken, and forgotten. It’s for the people who have felt pushed off to the side, meant to be seen as small, and removed.
My words are meant to pull myself and all of the others out from under the ground and realize that the light they thought had been stolen or lost had been in them all along.
And if you cannot relate with my words, if you feel the necessity to try to figure me out, and if you crave to understand me just to say you accomplished something and you’ve conquered an activity: my words are not for you.
I am not something you can conquer; I am not something you defeat.
I am not for you.