The Cost Of Silence

I wish you would have spoken.

I wish, in those moments when the world demanded your silence, that you would have fought back.  

That your voice would have gotten louder. That you would have insisted that you be heard. 

I wish that when your eyes were opened to the cruelty, you had the courage to tell your story. 

That you would have exposed the truth. 

That when you were no longer in the grip of confusion and control, you would have known to speak out for those who had not yet escaped. 

For while you were silent, standing out in the light, 

I was still in the dark. 

My vision was shrouded by manipulation. My mind muddied in deceit.

I knew nothing of my prison.

I knew not that I was held hostage to the insanity, to the dysfunction, to the pain.

I was told that the darkness my eyes saw wasn't there. That the pain I felt was self-imposed. That the coldness and isolation was a figment of my imagination. 

And I believed. 

But had you called out to reveal what you knew- could I have followed you into the light? 

Could you have convinced me that the darkness was real? That I wasn't asking to be hurt? That I was cold and alone and I needed to escape? 

But your silence made them comfortable. 

For no one wants to hear of pain. No one wants to believe that humanity isn't always humane. That people are capable of despicable things. That some hearts are pumping poisonous blood. That their perception of a person could have been so wrong. That wolves do wear sheep's clothing. 

No one wanted to know the things you felt then, alone in that dark cage. 

It's shameful, they said.

It's unfair. 

Don't speak unkindly of others, they told you. 

Don't reveal your scars. 

They're ugly, they said to you.

Hide them away. 

Heal in privacy. 

And so you did. 

And your silence gave them comfort.

But their comfort came at a cost. 

And that price was paid by those still gripped in the confusion of the darkness. By the scars they now bear.

So now that I find myself in your shoes, here in the light, I will not be silent. 

I will not shelter in fear that those who still believe that the wolf is a sheep will find my stories unnerving. 

I will not listen when they insist that I am the predator. 

That my words are unfair and unkind. 

That my scars are ugly. 

No, I will be calling out. For there are many still sitting in the dark. There are many still lost in the murkiness of toxicity.

I will tell them about the darkness. About the control. About the pain and confusion and the manipulation. 

I will tell them to follow me- to follow my voice. To come with me to safety. 

For silence only feeds the oppressor.