Finding Myself

by joelmckerrow

And so the girl hands me her grief

and it is mountain. And all I want is to wrap her in the silent spaces and tell her that nothing that loud shall drown her in fear ever again. But I cannot lie. I cannot deaden the sound of a violent world.

Yet I do know that there is a silence that hides inside.

And I do know that it waits for her to find it.

And I do know that even in the midst

of all the noise and the yelling

that she might stand silent and strong.

I know this because there is a silence in me too.

I offer it to her.

Forgetting it is not mine to give away.

It is part of me as her silence is part of her.

So I turn to my silence

in hopes that she too may turn to her own.


If her fear is mountain.

Her silence is ocean.

Her peace is a river.

A constant flowing.

A carving through valley.

An erosion.

She shows me the pages of her journals

and they wash over me like wave

and I sit in this car and the salty tears

meet the salty water of her words and I realise that if she is an ocean than I am one too. And I know the mountain that looms within me and I weep these tears till the ocean tides rise and my mountain looks more island than unclimbable. And so I tell her…

“Look at me. I am finding myself too brave girl. I am finding myself too. Only the brave ones do.” I tell her, “only the brave ones do.”