I have to find my voice

That’ll speak for me when I write

That’ll put distinct sounds and melody

In my poem and stories

Well, after searching I finally came upon it

I have found my voice


I found my voice in the idyllic 15 year old dining room

Sipping affogatto thinking all sorts bizarre the normal

Turned peculiar.


I found my voice in green corners bleeding from every nook and cranny, alienation wringing the loneliness outta me and turning it into ink.


I have found my voice in the lonely voids amidst the hallway noise on chrome benches pressed between chatterboxes in a faraway kingdom away from scholarly madness.


I have found my voice in out of place situations stuffed in a glass room box, cliques about, whispering leading to anxiety, giggling leading to overthinking, unsettling imagination fertile ground for the seeds of literary ambition.



I have found my voice in academic oppression-forced to read and put aside artistic aspiration and expression, stuffed incessantly with numbers and measurements, suppressing, addressing subtly “WE DON’T NEED NO CREATIVITY”.

I have found my voice in mommy parties, my introverted silence heavily misleading others proudly believing that i-scholarly sage-am studying, insouciant  about my masterpieces (whoopee! Better to shock them!)


I have found my voice in the abhorrence of affection a conflagration from scintilla of feminine revolution burning eternally, innately present rendering girl now woman far too proud for a husband, rather I be proud than dependent, belittled at least I have my voice to raise me high.


I have found my voice in the nation, now a responsible citizen yearning to be active, activists to trample and rise, us impoverished kind, to be believed us witty, bookish kind and be felt, like a crashing tsunami tide to sweep away the great terror tower that has been erected to shadow over our threatened brethren.


I have found my voice in depression I have found it deep in my melancholia dwelling where fear and doubt hang about like rock formations in a cave that should the earth shake (or if it only shakes because I say) would fall upon me and impale me like daggers. Oh yes, I have found my voice in the darkest most dangerous corners of feelings, such is a dilemma to face. To find your voice in the dark of sadness or to stay happy, blissfully unproductive in twinkling, deafening silence.

Ah but these struggles I face head on in the gloom of the blues I tread on to the bottom of the anxious pits, sea beds I heroically plunge ahead for the voice that is drowned in the most intense of sorrows is the loudest, truest, most powerfully beautiful of them all.





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