I Want To Be a Lasting Voice

An Audio Flash Nonfiction Piece

I Want To Be a Lasting Voice
Photo by Rene Ferreira via Pexels

I never thought I’d live to see the mass destruction of all things different–but here we are. As many reflect on the 6th anniversary of the Pulse shooting where 49 people were gunned down and killed while 53 others had been wounded, I am sitting with my thoughts on just how insane the world in which we live has become. At the age of 42 and as a Black woman who is bisexual, and also lives in the South, fear and I are “kissing friends.” We have a relationship where she pulls at my hair and I slap her hands away assertively yet with just a bit of caution, too. We are warped bosom buddies–our lives entwined for decades because this has “become the norm.” I can’t slip out of my skin to appease the majority, however, if you asked them if I can, they’d rebut, “Yes, it can be done.”

Someone has poured some type of creamer in their coffee that deteriorates brain cells and as my friend’s mother used to say, “Something in the milk ain’t clean.” Who are we to cast down or out those who do not look, act, agree with, or follow our beliefs? Who are we to denounce a community because we do not understand their lives? Who are we to harbor hate for those with different socioeconomic backgrounds, upbringings, and work ethics? Everyone is so busy playing God they’ve forgotten just who God truly is.

If God IS love, why are so many who claim to follow him displaying the opposite? I want to be a lasting voice. When I am gone, affix my words to my tombstone–compile a few of my most vulnerable pieces and share them with my hurting loved ones. When my body is ash, spread me along the Savannah River, purify its depth. I do not want to be remembered as someone who was merely existing during a time when all hell broke loose and lifted herself in phases because living in whole parts had become too exhausting.

Living now is exhausting. 

And it pains me to reflect on the past, observe the present, and admit that I do not want any parts of the torturous future ahead. Not if there aren’t serious changes. I am one voice. I say to you now, do not let yours go silent–do not allow yours to be stunted. Pull whatever morsel of goodness you have dwelling within the pits of your belly out, and spread it all over this world. 

We are dying by the hundreds. We are hurting by the thousands. We are struggling by the millions. And soon, if we do not become wise, we will all be dead without forgiveness. 

I want to be a lasting voice. Do you?

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt Originally published on Simily.

NaPoWriMo #30

Friday Birdsong

The birds’ church
starts again promptly at
7 pm, and everyone has
their place.

I walk the dog–her pointy
ears rise at attention.
Can she feel their melody?
Does she appreciate their harmony?

We walk to pass the time
listening to heaven’s gift
to us on a Friday evening.
I’d gladly gift nature my
tithes.


Another year of writing a poem a day for 30 days has come to an end. It has been a test and a trial, but I succeeded. Thanks for being here, beautiful people. See you next year for NaPoWriMo!

Winter’s Planning on Sticking Around

An Audio Rapid Rhyme

Photo by Kirsten Kimasch via ReShot
Winter’s Planning on Sticking Around

Winter whispers in my ear
cold & flu season is definitely here.
We have not been spared–no dismissals,
no chance at making ourselves useful.
Cuddled under covers with our loves,
fishing through movies in fingerless gloves.
No “White Christmas”, but payback has landed,
thankful to God I’m sheltered–not stranded.

I’m taking time to count my blessings,
praying intently, sharing my confessions.
The days ahead are getting longer,
my broken heart is beating stronger.
Old Man Winter isn’t asking for much,
one day soon, I’ll embrace the touch
of anyone in my circle or crew
I’m waiting for that day, it’s true.

Isolation keeps me weary,
my brown eyes are often teary.
I can’t change the season,
and there’s really no reason
for me to rush time.
Here and now is sublime.



The Gift of Life

Thyrie (pronounced “Theory”) Torie Devon Floyd, born on September 07, 2021. My youngest nephew (currently). Doesn’t he already look like he’s trying to figure out this crazy world of ours? Photo used with my brother, TJ’s permission.

For Thyrie: An Audio Poem

The Gift of Life

I keep saying I’m missing out on so much — 
I’ve lost every aspect of growth in 
front of me — I feel like I’m chasing 
after it — losing my speed. 
I’m trying . . . I swear, I am. 
My family is increasing in numbers — 
the beauty of life sheds her gifts
upon us, I am speechless.

My brothers keep me informed.
My phone is home to hundreds of
pictures of nieces and nephews 
from the beginning of their time
here on this earth. I can watch
their growth as much as I want.
I can rewind — playback — fast forward,
and stop time digitally, but in real life . . .
Nothing can be halted.

I don’t have 
that kind of power.

From the day he roared into this world,
I could tell Thyrie would be a thinker — 
an observer. I saw it in his eyes.
His soul has been here before, it isn’t
its first time. I dream of the day
I will hold him close to me, 
kiss his forehead, and sing him lullabies.

I am four hundred sixty-one miles 
away from the call of his cries,
the kindness of his giggles, and the
wonderment smoothed behind his ears.
I am so far away but so close to
him — connected by blood — linked by
history. How did I get to be an
auntie of six? How?!

There is a nation rising up in
Thyrie’s heart — he’s got a grip
on this world already. I think he 
knows what it needs — what we lack.
“There’s no pressure,” I whisper
to myself, but I can feel the intensity
of his stare. He will be infinite change — 
on loan to us for years to come.
Are we prepared?

I have lived long enough to see my
siblings form their own families;
whether big or small, and I still tear up
reminiscing about their childhood. 
When you can change a brother’s 
diaper or give a sister her bottle or 
help another brother learn how to swim,
while the youngest one watches on — 
waits for his turn, or you cook, clean, 
bathe, and rear up ones lagging behind
you in years — you gain wisdom.

In the eyes of this wondrous creation,
I see new beginnings and a world
I’m not so afraid to attack anymore.
I will call the day to me when I
will bask in his coos — be altered by his
smell. He has so much to teach me
and I am here to learn.

I am here to learn.


Originally published in The Junction via Medium.

*I wish I had more words to appropriately convey the joy I have in watching my family grow. I believe Thyrie will be another reason for me to load up my things and travel home and past home to just be with my people. Looking at him, it’s hard for me not to want to race as quickly as I can to him.

Thank you for reading and listening too.