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I have a voice
behind this tongue
that is quiet and sky
and knotted in my throat.

I have a voice
that whispers to me
but i fear to amplify,
for you see it reflects on who am I.

I fear of what they might think,
as it is not an attempt at speaking
but an insight to my perspective,
and thoughts
allowing them to know and judge.
It's a fear I dread to face,
that consumes me everyday,
I don't face.

I have a voice,
its mine
and I don't want it to be
muted by people
and neither fear.

I have voice,
that it is all mine,
that I will amplify.

For it is a part of
who I am, my opinions
my thoughts,
I choose for it not to be taken away,
neither suppressed.

I give it a platform,
a channel,
and courage
to let it speak
its very own language.

Liberating me
with every syllable it lets slip.
SK Feb 9
Hypnotized
Spinning in your web of lies
A cocoon of love
Or a festoon of self?
Trophied under disguise

Cold to the touch
But burning in bliss
Partial exposure
I know what this is
Solar eclipsed

You do not know who this is
One face over another
Mirroring within
Body, malnourished
Feed me your sins
Unknown Jan 9
I've forgotten your face.
I've forgotten your face.

How have I forgotten the face of someone I loved dearly?

I have these memories of you but cannot picture what you look like,
or what you sound
or smell like.

Grief is a funny thing and has made me forget the person you were.

God, why can I not remember your face?
Grief and suppressing people's death has caused me to forget them.
gabrielle Jan 6
suppression of the love,

when you had enough

believing he could love you.
stop whenever .
Quotedbykayla Dec 2018
Yearned is thy cheerfulness to wax
a particle within thee,
however,
stuck be not
Quotedbykayla Dec 2018
She sharpened blades,
turning her head as she engraved
thou blistered name
into her delicate flesh
Quotedbykayla Dec 2018
Multitudinous battles,
Inhibiting every single darted tear dying to transpire
Quotedbykayla Dec 2018
She sobs so deep and profusely to the peak of
taping her mouth shut to repress her whimpers
ensuring that no soul pay attention to her throttling tears
cheered on by the toxic oxygen she inhaled each
second she still animatedly exists
Ron Gavalik May 2018
The problem with people-watching
in the middling suburbs outside Pittsburgh,
is everyone looks like they’re related,
a little too similar, bad photocopies
of the same dull morality.
The girls have similar haircuts
and the boys wear similar shorts.
The men and women,
they cannot stomach the ‘F’ word,
but they adore efficient order
enforced through totalitarian violence.
Chemical air fresheners are pumped
through department store ventilation systems.
Perhaps the compound is designed
to induce complacency for the status quo
and suppress everyone's style
or sense of fashion.
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