This is a spoken-word poem I performed at a squad-wide open mic night held during debrief. Video to come later – probably not until I get to Mozambique, but it’ll be there eventually and I’d love for you to watch it when that happens!
“Voices in my head”
There are voices in my head
Not the ones that make you clinically insane. No schizophrenic personality or alternate identity controlling me like you see in the movies
I remain in command but a mutiny stirs from deep within. An uprising of the voices dying to bring me down.
Whose are they, anyway? Are they my own, echoes of old wounds, or perhaps from Satan himself?
Your guess is as good as mine
The voices are my oldest companions, with me as long as I’ve had conscious thought. Their sadistic, scheming ways have conditioned me, their presence a perverse comfort. A sickening Stockholm Syndrome of lies and slander.
You see, the voices don’t like me much. They would have me believe otherwise – that they have my best interests at heart – but no sane person would fall for it.
What does that say about me then?
The voices strike at my worth. They tell me I am nothing, that I am dead weight, and that everyone else around me would be better off if I were somewhere else.
They want me to think that my efforts are in vain and it’s time to give up – after all, why suffer through the pain? – and accept that there are some things I just can’t do.
Their favorite weapon is fear and they feed on my aversion to failure. As if it were the worst possible fate to befall.
Lies and slander.
They paralyze me. Trap me. Pull me down like gravity in this mind-twisting depravity.
And I’ve had enough.
The trouble is that they know me too well. They twist my arm – make me buy what they sell. And I wish I could tell them to go to – well, you know – but I can’t do that ’cause I’m under their spell.
So how do I fight back?
It would be all too easy to surrender, to quit and say “you win.” I don’t know what to do – where to begin.
The voices kick me when I’m down and I call myself defeated, dead inside. I’ve practically retreated. I’m done.
But there’s another voice and this one tells me to get up.
This voice is not like the others, no, this one speaks life over death, healing over pain, power over weakness and it surges through my veins.
I know this voice. This is my king, my protector, my God. The one who splits the sea, calms the storm and moves the mountains.
And his voice thunders – makes the others run and hide. When absolute truth is on my side they have no chance.
Here in the light, they’re stripped of their power. ‘Cause the name of the Lord is the only strong tower. And I will arise from my darkest hour, victorious!
