I’d Rather Be Normal

A poem for anyone wrestling with past temptations and present obedience.

I’d rather be normal.
That’s the thought that slips in
when modesty feels like a curtain,
between myself and the world,
and obedience gets no ovation.

I’d rather be effortless—
low-cut confidence,
hip-sway sermon,
a hundred eyes saying
“you belong.”

I know how to pull that off.
I used to wear it
like perfume and armor.

I’d rather scroll than sit in silence.
Smoke the stillness out of my chest.
Laugh too loud at things I don’t believe.
Be soft-spoken in conviction
but sharp-edged in style—
unbothered, unburdened,
unholy.

But You.
You ripped that taste off of my tongue.
Not by shame,
but by showing me what it cost.

You speak in whispers
when the world screams,
and somehow Your stillness
shakes me more.

Now, I see the way wide roads
cheer me on
while cliffing off.
How “normal” in this world
often comes with chains
you don’t notice
‘til you’re bleeding from the wrists.

But still—
I miss the mindless ease, sometimes.
The way seduction felt like power.
The way laziness disguised as peace.
The way my body was currency,
and I never checked the exchange rate.

Now I wear higher neck lines
and carry heavier thoughts.
I trade attention for integrity
and wonder if anyone sees.

I say no—
when every part of me
remembers how yes
felt like momentary flight.

But I’d rather follow You.
Even when it hurts.
Even when it’s lonely.
Even when it feels like
I’m the only one

Walking upstream
in a world that floats
toward
the fall

Because I’ve seen
where that stream flows
when I go
where I’d rather.

And I’d rather be Yours.

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The Sentence for Truth

A Poem About Speaking Truth in a World of Silence.
-By Taylor O’Lynn

Cut out my tongue and sew it
To the soles of boots
That crushed the throats
Of injustice and suffering,
Only to be mocked and forgotten.

Sit on my hands.
Shove veracity
Where the light won’t reach it,
Shield the fragile
From truth’s luster.

Shame stands guard—
A cunning cloak of corruption,
Policed speech
Pointing like a spearhead
At those who dare
Illuminate lunacy.

They dampen the soil,
Water the plant—
Roots in your gut,
Stem in your brain,
Leaves through your ears,
Thorns in your eyes.

Sharpen your sight.
Lean toward the light.
Woke with eyes closed,
Here’s the fountain.

Victimhood is not a flag
Waved to steal our success.
Suffering is not a weight
Fastened to our feet.

Pain is not a prison—
It is a furnace.
A fire that licks the edges
Of the double-edged sword.

Chiseled against stone,
Sharpening the spirit into
Something truer,
Something alive.

It is the blade in the vineyard,
Cutting away spoiled fruit,
The rot poisoning the root,
The weight that bends the branch.
Not to harm,
But to heal.

Pain does not bind us—
It builds us.
It does not drown—
It drives.

And when they tell you
To wear your wounds like shackles,
To bow beneath the weight of your scars,
Dig in your heels and open your mouth

Let them see what fire does
To those who refuse to be consumed.

But silence—
Silence is a muzzle

Tightened by trembling hands
Afraid of consequences.
If truth is a crime
and cuts too deep,
If it offends,

You are told to comply.
Swallow your words
Before they ever touch air.
Speak too bold,
Stand too firm,
And they will burn
your name to the ground.

They say tolerance—
But mandate misconception.
They say inclusion—
But demand delusion.

Truth does not beg.
It does not cower,
It does not seek permission.

It does not die in darkness.
It does not shrink when silence swells.
It is the light—burning bright
through the lies that sought to smother it.

Let them cover their ears,
Let them turn their heads,
Let them tremble at the weight of words unchained.

For the only thing more dangerous
Than the truth they fear—
Is a voice that dares to carry it.

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