Words by Erin Schubert
Art by @Oojin_
Lately, finding my voice seems like the only thing that matters. I fantasise about how it might feel to fan this flicker of something, The thing that burns at the back of my throat. It throbs at the tip of my tongue, too. I taste it in my mouth. The bittersweetness of it. The salty seduction of it. The thrill of it aches in me and I crave to meet her, become her – The woman who speaks her mind. I’m not even certain of what she has to say. I only know she has to say it.
I exist in the space between stagnation and growth. Enthralled by the possibility of a bigger me, Tethered still to the promise of old safety. I’ve been balanced on this precipice for the longest time, Willing myself to lean into the risk. I’m so afraid to fall, Because who do I become if I do?
What if I fly, though? What if I fly? Isn’t she me, and I, her? She’s the woman I become, if I fly.
