Adena M'lynn's Voice

  What echoes in me are the truths I cannot silence. They ripple through my bones, through breath, through the hollow spaces I thought were forgotten. I smell them before I hear them— the sharp bite of beer from my grandmother’s breath, the sweetness of bread rising in a neighbors kitchen, the sting of cigarette smoke curling in the dark, each scent a messenger bringing the past into my present. These echoes carry voices— my own when I was small and searching, the light of those who loved me without condition, the leaders whose words once lit torches in the dark. They come back to me on the trail of scent— a perfume spilled on Sunday clothes, the earthy musk of rain on clay, the iron tang of blood when I was too young to bleed. Each echo is a conversation between who I was and who I am becoming, reminding me that words and smells and moments don’t vanish— they seep into the air, and when the wind is right, they return. They reverberate inside me, reshaping my breath, shaping tomorr...

by Adena M’lynn The greatest secret we keep isn’t the one buried in journals or locked inside a drawer— it’s the one we carry in our skin, in the way our eyes glance away right before the truth might spill. It’s the warmth we never name, the breath we hold a fraction too long, the electricity in a brush of fingers that both of us pretend was only an accident. We keep it between the lines of casual conversation under the weight of words like How have you been? when what we mean is I still dream of you. We guard it because the world has a way of breaking beautiful things just to see what’s inside. And this— this is too fragile for daylight, too wild for rules, too precious for hands that do not know how to hold without taking. So we keep it, not in chains, but in the softest place— between your heartbeat and mine, where it lives like a quiet flame no one else will ever see. And maybe that’s the greatest secret of all— that sometimes love survives not in the telling, but in the keeping.

By Adena M’lynn I’m still— meeting myself. No, not myself. Another… her. She says she’s ready to heal. I didn’t know we were all bleeding from the same vein. I thought— we were the same. God made us in His image. Right? Same sky. Same words. Happy. Truth. Lies. All spelled the same. But— her happy flinches. Her truth tastes like metal. Her lies… sound like lullabies. I thought truth was making sure someone else felt good— say it so they smile— and by gosh, that’s the gospel truth. But that gospel came from a mouth with no name. A girl who was everyone and no one. No identity— just borrowed faces. Just a dictionary written in survival. Now— we sit across from each other, passing words like they might break. Praying, maybe one day we’ll speak the same and actually mean it.

When individuals discover that the historical narratives they've been taught in school, by parents, grandparents, and through the media, are sugar coated or outright falsehoods, it can have negative impacts on their perception of identity, trust, and societal structures. This realization often leads to a range of emotional, cognitive, and social consequences. Emotional Impact Disillusionment and Betrayal: Learning that one's foundational beliefs are based on inaccuracies can evoke feelings of disillusionment and betrayal. This emotional response is particularly intense when the misinformation comes from trusted sources such as family members or educators. Anger and Frustration: The discovery of historical inaccuracies can also lead to anger and frustration. This can stem from the realization that certain truths were deliberately omitted or distorted, often to serve specific narratives or agendas.   Cognitive Impact Questioning and Skepticism: Once individuals recognize that par...