I have not written properly – or indeed done anything to fuel my creative life – for several months now. The reasons are many – and none. Times and situations have changed; I have too. Rather than a list of excuses, I offer this explanation:

I hacked out my tongue when I stepped through the door
I am mute; words bubble in my throat
Clammed down screams for your attention
but my laranyx has died,
I cannot form words, my language
cut down to shrugs and sighs
and desperate cries into pillows.
My silence colludes.

Somewhere inside is the tiniest spark
and some nights I creep out
from my prison bed
and think; and write
reclaim my voice under cover of night,
secret, furtive night-time imaginings.

The caged bird sings and I write
to show my children there’s more to life;
battle demons and dragons
with strength and compassion.

One day I know I’ll break free this constraint
tethered by my hand alone, no restraint.
But my mother was silenced and her mother too:
break the cycle, crack the silence,
pick up my pen, just write.

About Kaye Heyes

In her practice Kaye Heyes promotes the power of words to transform mothers’ experience of post natal depression and traumatic births. She focuses on three areas: use of language when talking about lived experience, changing self-talk and creative writing as therapeutic practice. From November …Read more

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