When the truth convulses your systolic rhythm.

Stay in your body

and wait frantically for the echoes in your voice box.

Let them move you

then listen for a song,

something like your lungs cursing the air,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   your heart almost refusing to beat,

like tired inadequacies undressing themselves. And,

 

When a moment takes form to shake you

hold your flinching muscles in place,

let it break, break, break you

and when you fear you can’t keep yourself together        

Think of the Liberty bell

who with so much bravery

burst out of herself in front of all of Pennsylvania just to ring free,                                                                                                                                            

to sing.

 

They tried to make her less brittle but couldn’t stand  the insincerity of the muffled sound.

Twice she was melted and broken down,

once

the hearers tried to replace her but

the new bell did not sound more beautiful than freedom

breaking the metal of her body for the escaping of her soul ‒

 

Be cracked like her

and let the pain sing out.

Refrain

from the thicker skin, from trying to hide the insecurities behind your bones,

don’t keep your heart because the blemishes.

 

Meet yourself in the morning,

the flaw in your veins,

the runaway in your stain glass eyes,

without foundation, prone to collapse 

Be open.

Where the soul is churning

and stirring

do not stop the vibrations from traveling.

When you are struck with inward quaking.

Be unashamed,

be calm, but

be ringing as you stammer, through the staff of time until

like the end of a crescendo you arrive summoning others to be ok with shaking.

Because even when a bell burst out of its shell it is

still of perfect worth if it does not forget its purpose,

 

though caving in and barely choosing to breathe,

though crawling through this glass shattered life on bare hands and knees,

you bleed, with the lat drip of you

the stories you must place on blank seconds, blank papers,                                                                                                                                                

among strangers, ringing    

the messy process of becoming; I swear

the closet skeletons will smile

if none else does.

 

So,when the will to fight to live comes then leaves you wanting

like a tide

be honest and realize there is so much in survival we share,

feeding off the struggling songs of one another,

our bodies battlefields between selfishness and love

our spirits fighting to choose.

We must ring to signify the gold we still find

in the midst of landmines.

 

In the land of the dying

our task is to live

sensitive to life’s wind, even if it uproots us

and shakes until we rupture;

we should ring.  

For this is the sacred movement in our eyes,

the intonations of our voices and we all have them.