Debra, this took my breath away. The way you traced your journey from silence to voice is both heartbreaking and deeply empowering. I felt every word, the weight of what was unspoken, and the courage it took to finally speak. Thank you for reminding us that poetry isn’t just art, it’s survival, healing, and truth. I’m so grateful you chose to share your voice. It truly matters.
This is one of the most powerful and courageous pieces I’ve ever read. From fear to truth, every line carries the weight of survival, but also the beauty of healing. I saw echoes of my own story in yours, that slow loss of voice, the shrinking to stay safe, and the rediscovery of self through poetry.
Your honesty, your bravery, your decision to leave those hard lines in the book rather than soften them, it moved me. Thank you for standing up in that room, and now in this space, with your voice steady and strong.
Sea Salt and Silence isn’t just a book, it’s a reclamation. And I’m deeply grateful to be a witness to your journey. ❤️💛✨️🫶🏻🔥
Saira, your words brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for feeling it and for holding it with such care. I’m so grateful our stories found each other. ❤️💛
My pleasure! I loved reading it! That means so much, Debra. Our stories crossing paths feels like a quiet kind of magic, proof that words really can find the hearts that need them. I’m so grateful for yours too. Here’s to healing, truth, and the power of poetry. ❤️💛✨
I restacked, left a quote, because some powerful magicks in your words. You remind me of this great author and poet from Kelowna, BC., Michael V. smith
Okay, now you’ve gone and made my Okanagan heart melt. That’s such a generous comparison, I’ve long admired Michael V. Smith. I grew up in Penticton, BC. I live in New Zealand now, but that valley still lives in me. Thank you for the restack and your thoughtful words.
Michael, or Cookie to me, his Auntie, is one of my favorite people ever n this planet. He got interested in poetry … because for the longest time I struggled with the form of it. I did grow up with Hafiz being read to me by my dad but as a writer, poetry was hard, until Cookie read a poem at a Gathering of our community. I’d buy his book. That line of yours … provinces … stuck. Reminds me that Substack is not just weee Americans but our fabulous to the North as well.
I've written poetry throughout my life, but only this year have I published a book. Poetry helped me survive tough years, alongside art. I have learnt to still my tongue and write instead. I enjoyed your words. Thank you.
Wow this is profoundly deep. I’m very sorry for your trauma but I do believe poetry called to find you.
To think I’m silent so that people could make stories up about me. Often times makes me honestly wish I could ignore petty issues…and highlight the trouble most go through without help.
I hope your book soars, and if I could support I would.
Regina, this is breathtaking. I felt this deep in my chest, especially “I’m human and I can still sing.” What a powerful reclamation. Thank you for sharing this with such courage and grace.
I can sympathize so much! Poetry did the same for me. While going through cancer treatment, I began writing again—so much so that I ended up writing a book! I guess my voice had a lot to say!
Thank you! Resilience is my last name! I also had the brilliant idea of returning to university to get a degree in social sciences with a concentration in economics from NYU… (I’ll graduate next year!) 🤯🫠 now I am translating the book into Portuguese, French, and Arabic… 💀
This is stunning. And resonates so much. I am honored to witness your story unfolding.
Thank you Bea 💕
Debra, this took my breath away. The way you traced your journey from silence to voice is both heartbreaking and deeply empowering. I felt every word, the weight of what was unspoken, and the courage it took to finally speak. Thank you for reminding us that poetry isn’t just art, it’s survival, healing, and truth. I’m so grateful you chose to share your voice. It truly matters.
This is one of the most powerful and courageous pieces I’ve ever read. From fear to truth, every line carries the weight of survival, but also the beauty of healing. I saw echoes of my own story in yours, that slow loss of voice, the shrinking to stay safe, and the rediscovery of self through poetry.
Your honesty, your bravery, your decision to leave those hard lines in the book rather than soften them, it moved me. Thank you for standing up in that room, and now in this space, with your voice steady and strong.
Sea Salt and Silence isn’t just a book, it’s a reclamation. And I’m deeply grateful to be a witness to your journey. ❤️💛✨️🫶🏻🔥
Saira, your words brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for feeling it and for holding it with such care. I’m so grateful our stories found each other. ❤️💛
My pleasure! I loved reading it! That means so much, Debra. Our stories crossing paths feels like a quiet kind of magic, proof that words really can find the hearts that need them. I’m so grateful for yours too. Here’s to healing, truth, and the power of poetry. ❤️💛✨
This is beautiful and heartbreaking Debra. Thank you for sharing your soul. 🙏
Thank you Rea 🙏
I restacked, left a quote, because some powerful magicks in your words. You remind me of this great author and poet from Kelowna, BC., Michael V. smith
Okay, now you’ve gone and made my Okanagan heart melt. That’s such a generous comparison, I’ve long admired Michael V. Smith. I grew up in Penticton, BC. I live in New Zealand now, but that valley still lives in me. Thank you for the restack and your thoughtful words.
Michael, or Cookie to me, his Auntie, is one of my favorite people ever n this planet. He got interested in poetry … because for the longest time I struggled with the form of it. I did grow up with Hafiz being read to me by my dad but as a writer, poetry was hard, until Cookie read a poem at a Gathering of our community. I’d buy his book. That line of yours … provinces … stuck. Reminds me that Substack is not just weee Americans but our fabulous to the North as well.
And New Zealand … my Hawaiian heart is always with Māori folk…
we bleed in the same language, sister!!!!!
from the same age. twelve.
what you wrote doesn’t just echo, but it breathes the same air as the voice behind my wreckage.
where writing wasn’t a gift. it was a warning flare.
a way to prove we made it out, even if only in ink.
our way of bleeding lands in the world on amazon on june 23.
I see you. June 23, the world gets a glimpse of your fire and your healing. 💕
I've written poetry throughout my life, but only this year have I published a book. Poetry helped me survive tough years, alongside art. I have learnt to still my tongue and write instead. I enjoyed your words. Thank you.
I’m so glad you’re writing and sharing your voice. Thank you for being here. 💛
At long last I am finding people I can truly connect with, people who understand my language, my pain, my journey, the emotions beneath my words.
Wow this is profoundly deep. I’m very sorry for your trauma but I do believe poetry called to find you.
To think I’m silent so that people could make stories up about me. Often times makes me honestly wish I could ignore petty issues…and highlight the trouble most go through without help.
I hope your book soars, and if I could support I would.
🫶
Thank you for your kind words.Poetry really did find me in the wreckage, and I believe it finds all of us who need it most. 💛
Facts
When I stopped speaking, this is what I wanted to say…
listen to my heart, beating, rhythms
of yearning,
born on the prayers, still burning
through my spirit
remembering, revealing
reminding me that I’m a person
instead of a thing
I’m human and I can still sing –
when I find my voice,
peeling back the shadows
there is a hope, a moment
left inside
a smile that I refuse to hide
this is the wonder
that, despite the worst in life
I still have a reason to smile
so I smile…
through the soundless excuses
the alibis, all the music
I smile, because I’m living proof
that love survives
despite the darkest nights,
despite the deepest fears
despite the reasons I have
for rejecting the words,
for going unheard,
for the silence
that reminds me – I’m broken,
but time will bring back my smile
oh, yes, time…
she’ll tell the story of regrets,
she’ll smile through the tears,
she’ll give hope to the years.
Smile… and Thank God I’m His
by Regina McIntosh (who is free)
Regina, this is breathtaking. I felt this deep in my chest, especially “I’m human and I can still sing.” What a powerful reclamation. Thank you for sharing this with such courage and grace.
I can sympathize so much! Poetry did the same for me. While going through cancer treatment, I began writing again—so much so that I ended up writing a book! I guess my voice had a lot to say!
Writing a book while going through all that, what a powerful testament to resilience and hope. Thank you for sharing this with me.❤️
Thank you! Resilience is my last name! I also had the brilliant idea of returning to university to get a degree in social sciences with a concentration in economics from NYU… (I’ll graduate next year!) 🤯🫠 now I am translating the book into Portuguese, French, and Arabic… 💀
I don't have words here. But my heart is with you. ❤️
❤️
Victory of the human spirit is always astonishing. Thank you.
Thank you Marcia 💕
Thank you for this.
Thank you for reading David 💕
I'm glad you've found your voice, Debra
Thank you so much Jeff. 💕