on why i write.

all

the tears

of my

foremothers,

spill

hot

relief

onto the pages

that i write.

i weep in ink.

— on why i write.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

These last few weeks (on social media) have been really hard.

I have wanted to cut myself off.

From the anger.

From the heartache of women who remain, unbelieved.

I have, instead, decided to write even more transparently — even more bluntly, than ever before.

There are women, who share my DNA and those who are my sisters by the sharing of hearts, and wombs and fears — women not known to me, but whose stories share the same ancient refrain.

Whose voices need to be heard — need to be honoured.

This, is why I write.

Salt from my Bones.

You

say that I must

write

it

all

down

and

let

my life

fall

all over

this undefiled sheet of paper

in

a healing rain

but

I am trying to

stem

this flood

from breaching

my rib

cage,

because

we

are

not

ready

for

this

purge.

— Salt from my bones.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

2018.

{Sometimes, I am not sure whether I should share a poem with a wider (and by wider I mean anybody other than me) audience. This is one of those poems. It is not an uplifting poem. It is not an encouraging poem, but it is a raw, authentic moment. And I am being brave.}

(Even in this) My Grace is Sufficient (for you).

How

many

times

have

I breathed

Your Name,

a desperate

holy

declaration

at the

faceless

terror

that

roars

in the night.

Only

to watch it

limp away,

subdued

but not

(yet)

crushed,

because

it knows

the

map

to the

darkest

corners

of my mind

and

it

does

not

give

up,

but

God.

— (Even in this) My Grace is sufficient (for you).

© Liezel Graham 2018.

For those who battle fear and anxiety — especially that faceless 3h00 am terror that threatens to strangle the life out of your faith, but for the grace of a very big God.

Keep fighting.

I see you.

xx