One crucial thing to remember as a teacher.

ON SPEAKING MY TRUTH

by Sidney B. Simon

If I speak my truth, what is the sound?
Angry responses cascading like volcanic eruptions,
fury as hot as molten lava, eating holes,
melting stones, nothing spared, destruction?

When I speak my truth, what is the pain?
Seeing the backs of their heads, they slither away,
abandoning me, as if I had syphilis, kisses dry as ash,
my fervent arms empty, no spoons nestled in bed?

If I speak my truth, what is the impact?
Icy silences, her tight eyes avoiding mine like
repelling magnets, big on hurt she limps noiselessly,
while we feed on resentment, our stale daily bread?

But what happens when I don't speak my truth?
Then I lie to myself, I push my passion under,
my feelings go flat, somber as desert sand, I
plod on in my accommodation dance, and give up me.

It boils down to no alternative, I must stand up,
and see that I am heard, pursue it with the fierce
feline persistence of a mother lion after a warthog.
Demanding that truths be spoken back to me, integrity.

Not to win, to win, no brutal little lawyer arguments,
Hanging the egos on the willow trees, we listen and hear.
Knowing that whatever ugliness festers will scab and heal,
we're willing to go through hell, because
heaven and intimacy are real.