Soul Cry
Behind the Poem
I could start by telling you I was bullied.
I could tell you the names I was called. I could tell you about the jokes people made at my expense. I could tell you how those words affected the way I saw myself. Or how difficult it was to even question my identity when, at the time, I wasn’t completely sure who I was.
I could tell you countless stories about how low the words of other people made me feel.
Instead, I want to focus on the power words have and the hope we can find on the other side.
We say things every day without always considering what happens after they leave our mouths. A joke to one person can become an insecurity someone else carries for years. A name meant to get a laugh can slowly become a label. And if we hear something enough times, we can eventually begin to wonder if it’s true.
That’s part of what Soul Cry explores.
The person in this poem has been called so many things that the voices around him have slowly become the voice within him. Punk. Fool. Lame. Weak. Ignorant. Irrelevant. The words don’t simply hurt his feelings anymore. They’ve begun shaping how he sees himself.
Honestly, I was him.
But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned:
Just because someone calls you something doesn’t mean you have to answer to it.
What do you answer to?
Whose words have been given enough authority in your life that they’ve started shaping what you believe about yourself? Have those words subconsciously chained you to a false narrative?
These questions matter because we don’t always get to control what people say about us. We can’t stop every insult, every judgment, every rejection, or every person who decides they know who we are before they’ve taken the time to know us.
But we can become more intentional about which voices we believe.
For me, that journey has meant learning to return to the voice of God.
Scripture speaks clearly about the power of our words, but it speaks just as clearly about who we are. I am created in the image of God. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I was created intentionally and for a purpose.
Those truths don’t suddenly erase every insecurity. They don’t make painful words hurt less the moment they’re spoken. And they certainly don’t mean I’ve forgotten everything that was ever said to me.
But they give me another voice to listen to.
A truthful one.
In Soul Cry, I wanted to show that the pain doesn’t magically disappear. The person in the poem is still broken. But another voice enters the conversation. When you’ve spent so long listening to everything that’s wrong with you, hearing the truth about who you are can be the beginning of restoration.
If words have enough power to make someone question their worth, then I believe they also have enough power to remind someone of it.
If words can discourage, they can encourage.
If words can tear down, they can build up.
If words can make someone feel unseen, they can remind someone that they are seen.
You are more than the worst thing someone has ever called you.
You are more than someone else’s opinion of you.
You are more than the insecurity you’ve carried because somebody else’s words convinced you that you weren’t enough.
Be careful which voices you give the authority to define you.
And be just as careful with the words you speak over someone else.
You never know which ones they’ll carry with them.
What do you answer to?
And maybe more importantly:
What voice are you allowing to tell you who you are?
Beyond the Blog
What words have you carried with you that were never yours to believe? And what truth do you need to replace them with?
Soul Cry is featured on my spoken word album, eight twenty eight. If this reflection resonated with you, listen to the full poem and explore the album for more poetry about identity, faith, love, healing, and becoming.
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