I sit in an impossible silence. I cannot speak, because none of my words belong to only me. The weight of the world is balancing on the tip of my tongue, and it is not my responsibility to put it into words. But it is my responsibility to feel along with it.
I have written this before, these small words, disappearing beneath nauseating evil. I have written them too many times. I write them in skin that no longer feels safe against my own bones. I do not know how to be human in the midst of this world anymore. I want to rewrite tragedy, to rearrange the punctuation, end the sentences sooner. But these stories have been written, the television screaming them, I jump at the loudness, I shrink beneath the pain. It is not something I feel comfortable looking at in the light. I am not near the horror, but I can feel it all, it becomes me. Every name a cherished friend, every scream, a familiar voice.
And it does not feel like enough to say that we are feeling it together. That their tears are mine, that mine are yours. That we are all collapsing inside of these same human bodies, trying to cover up our own sin for long enough to understand. I know that it is not enough.
But these human bones, they cannot hold the weight of tragedy. These human lungs, they do not know inhale without hate.
And because my throat is clogged with too much humanness, all I know to say is;
Jesus, create in me a space conducive for receiving indigestible pain with transparency. Instill in me a loud voice, speaking only words you would know to say in the face of this ugly world. I cannot muster the right ones on my own.