I’m the voice you choke down
when your smile lies for you.
The one that growls
when your pretty face can’t hide your war wounds.
I’m the echo that don’t need no hallway,
don’t need no mic
I boom in your bones
when they doubt you can hold your own.

See, I’m not here for small talk
I’m the full sermon,
the tear-stained gospel you preach
when you forget you’re holy,
when you forget your scars been baptized
in every storm you never bowed to.

I talk big
‘cause you come from big prayers,
big mistakes,
big nights crying into your own palms
til your demons tapped out.

I’m that backtalk when they tell you “sit pretty.”
I’m the slam of your door when you got your own rent paid.
I’m the hush in your head that says,
“Try me
try me and see if I don’t rise again
with a grin wide enough to swallow your doubts whole.”

I don’t whisper
I don’t beg
I’m that cuss under your breath
that tastes like freedom
I’m the word you can’t unhear:
ENOUGH.
Enough surviving.
Enough shrinking.
Enough burying your lion
just to soothe their comfort.

So say it with your chest:
You’re the mouth that bit back heartbreak
and spit out poetry.
You’re the lungs that learned to breathe in smoke
and exhale truth.
You’re the thunder rolling through your own ribcage
like you own every bolt.

Talk like the world’s listening
because it is.
Talk like you’re the last prayer on earth

because you might be.
Talk until silence is jealous.
Talk until your name tastes like respect
in their mouths.

And when they ask you who gave you permission?
Tell ‘em your soul did.
Tell ‘em your fire did.
Tell ‘em you did
and you’re just getting started.