Speak Up

Growing up, I had difficulty when it came to speaking my truth

I’d bite my tongue in favor of protecting those who struggled with things no one could see

Strange quirks and tendencies

Like Pyromancy

Or a love for watching people bleed

I grew up around people with dangerous secrets

What’s even scarier is the types of people they’d turn to in order to keep said secrets chambered

You know, the types that were equally deviant.

So I observed, and I learned, but I was of few words

For fear that they would think I turned on them

Except, my silence made them turn on me

And what I thought was protecting me soon worked against me

And in my silence, I dealt with many attempts to silence me

To rid me of the things I just so happened to see

So I went against my own conditioning

Against my own promises

And decided to speak

And when I spoke, things shifted

Along with the shifts came desperate attempts to maintain the old order

Attempts that came with threats and scare tactics

Attempts that came with corruption and court orders

Attempts to bring me to tears.

Whether through violence, or through fear

I spent a lot of time pondering about the intricacies of death, and the people who sought to lead me to a premature ending

I realized that it took quite a creative mind to get away with crime

How do you hide a body?

Perhaps setting your own house on fire?

Staging a break in?

Or taking someone for a desolate drive?

Or perhaps, an overseas trip to the Maldives

Where disappearances go unaccounted for

Followed by a few staged actors in the comments section shouting

“She got what she bargained for.”

Oh, the intricacies of crime

Tied to the butterflies who choose to speak up