One Voice

I have but one voice -


for years that one voice harbored in the silent safety of notebooks and napkins.

Though I spoke of and for many -

my voice was never heard.

It took one person to inspire me,

one emotion to carry me,

yet many years to convince me,

that my voice was worth hearing.

That my words were worth listening to.

My opinions changed as I spoke out -

the government gave me more to speak about.

Life gave me more to cry about.

Though I didn't - I wrote.

I wrote til pens ran out of ink,

til pencils lost their edge,

til the tears stopped trying to break through.

I finally had the courage and self-security to speak out.

Yet who would I speak to?

Where could my voice be heard loud enough not to be drowned out by others?

and would it?

I hesitated, I thought, I wrote, I thought some more...

yet I remained silent.

My voice stretched no further than select friends and family.

An abstract imagination grown insecure while rapidly evolving.

The thoughts controlled my creativity -

holding captive at times from the fairy tale I dreamed of.

Then it happened.

A poetry reading -

my friends and family starring up at me on a stage made of cheap wood -

silhouettes and shadows of eight shine on my face making the fear that much more visible.

The music stopped.

I heard my name being announced and I felt liberated - comfortable.

Like the stage of cheap wood was my home -

and the microphone was an object I was born with.

Like a baby's pacifier, it calmed me.

When I spoke - the crowd nodded in agreement with my words.

Their faces showed the same emotions I felt when writing.

My mother shed the tears I had held back in the transition from thought to paper.

Never again did I ask when my voice would be heard.

For now, and forever...when I want to be heard,

I will just speak louder!
 
Written By @MzFilterless