The way sound can slip beneath the surface—into memory, into muscle, into places where words haven’t yet been able to tread—it’s profound. And it’s real.
It happened in response to the following Video within the ARTSTACK Poetry challenge:
🖋️ Write a poem inspired by Teezo Touchdown - UUHH (Instrumental).🎧 Include a 30-second audio clip (of the instrumental, your voice, or other relevant sounds) in your post on Substack.🗣️ Optional: Record yourself reading your poem out loud and include that audio too. Give your words voice.
What I experienced wasn’t just a reaction to music. It was a whole-body remembering. That pounding beat, the relentless drive of the bass—it didn’t land as rhythm. It landed as a trigger. A summoning. A reminder of what it feels like to be overpowered, overwhelmed, made small by something louder than my own voice.
And still—I stayed with it, if only for a moment. Turned toward the sensation instead of away from it. Not because I had to, but because I could.
So I’m not writing from the sound. I’m writing from the after. From the breath that came after the noise. From the pause. The reclaiming. Not of the music, but of my own voice.
bodymemory (in bass)
BOOM.
not a beat—
a blow.
a command:
move. —
but I freeze.
static in my fascia,
pain-spiked spine,
shoulder blades clench
like they know what’s coming.
no music here.
just a mother’s voice,
volumed-up violence
in 4/4 time.
and the floor—
it isn’t a dancefloor.
it’s a witness.
to impact.
to recoil.
to retreat into bone.
I do not move
to this rhythm.
I brace.
//cut the sound//
(quiet now.)
my breath—
a softer metronome.
irregular.
still mine.
I walk backwards
out of the noise.
into the hush.
into a meandering
remembering
not to forget but
not to relive.
I write not from the bass,
but from the space
where the bass used to be.
.
#ThePoetryHaul #artstackpoets
Would you be willing to support my work by subscribing or contributing? It would mean so much to me.
Your presence here means the world. Creating art, testing recipes, and sharing these reflections is a labor of love, a way to connect, a lifeline. But, as you know, love doesn't pay the rent, or replace a car.
Since January 2024, my mental health has forced me onto sick leave, leaving Monty and me with a mere €350 a month. And, as I shared in 'When Healing Means Losing Everything,' the reality is, this isn't sustainable.
When Healing Means Losing Everything
https://wildlionessespride.substack.com/p/when-healing-means-losing-everything
By the end of 2025, I face losing my home and my car, forced to leave a country that no longer feels like home. I'm building a new life, a new beginning, and your support could be the bridge.
If my words, art, or recipes have touched you, if you believe in creating spaces of honest reflection, consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your contribution directly fuels this work, allows me to keep sharing, and helps me build a future.
I know times are tight. If a monthly subscription isn't feasible, a one-time tip, even the price of a coffee or a bag of cat food for Monty, makes a difference. You can contribute here.
Tip Jar https://buymeacoffee.com/jaysiegmann
https://wildlionessespride.substack.com/subscribe
And, if you're looking to collaborate, I'm also open to working with you.
My skills extend beyond this space. I offer trauma-informed, bilingual (EN/DE) editing, logo and illustration work, photo editing, and slogan support. I'm also available for DEI consulting, copywriting, personal assistance, embodiment coaching, cooking, baking, bartending, hosting, concierge services, travel management, systemic conversation facilitation, photography, or even a whimsical weather frog person. If you know of any opportunities in these areas, please pass my name along. You can see more of my work here:
Your support, in any form, means I can keep creating, keep connecting, and keep building a life where both Monty and I can thrive. Thank you for being part of this journey.
