Mike D 3h

The story is nothing new
This page isn’t filled with uniquely creative thoughts
An epic tale told a thousand times
You probably know the whole thing by heart
Each line another cliché metaphor
A clever twisting of the words
Filled with thesaurus like similes
Turning clever into the absurd

Dated analogies about the sun and moon
The heavens and the earth
Attempting to link items on the grandest of scales
To your emotional tale without worth
Or an observation deemed so insightful
Into rhyme or prose it must be made
Yet exactly seen by millions like you
The same story they also laid

Falling tears or fervor held
Are items long in the tooth
A comet soaring through Heaven and Hell
Trucker’s tales in coffee booths
Attentive ears are deafly turning
Audience bemoans with a heavy sigh
A hefty wind flickers the candle’s flame
The plunging eagle about to die

A key among the keyboard
The tide is given a sudden shift
A movie fade to black then back again
The story’s not over yet
The soul might be old but the embodiment new
Of the same fabric it is made
Mother birthing a child; Later child birthing too
The road before us has been paved

Our predecessors we don’t maniacally mow down
Or drive harshly over their backs
Asphalt has been laid and affixed with bright lights
For this trip our bags have been packed
Our minds lit and a map we’re handed
But this is our journey to take
Every sensory felt, every nuance, every detail
Each experience is ours to make

Recalling and pondering we filter it through
Our subconscious and conscious mind
Eloquently putting our words onto paper
Giving life to the tale that we wind
No incantation given, no sorcery used,
No tricks or attempt to obfuscate
A virtuous orator with straightforward talk
Reaching out to communicate

A fire within like a volcano erupts
Ripping pieces from us we must share
Tiny segmented memories that are shed off
Slowly away from us floating on air
On their own expedition with distinctive narrative
From their trek new treks will be born
The road will be driven so many times
New asphalt will become old and worn

These statements aren’t made in an attempt to dissuade
The adventurous explorer’s spirit
On the contrary in fact, life’s reigns they must grab
Not on their hands idly sit

The model dictates near the end we must make
A summation of previous characters
All statements before and utterances too
Must neatly fit into one or two stanzas

Even though each of us has a heart and a mind
Their singularity makes each one special
The data they store from this life’s ride
If desired a story should tell
Don’t be shut behind doors, someone turned off the lights
Told your words are nothing but noise
The world needs to hear, what you need to share
Your uniquely individual voice

Written - January 20, 2018 'Today'

All rights reserved.
Carmen 4d

I was 6 years old and my mother
said I had words in my mouth
that came from an old woman's tongue.
Words and letters came to me
before I knew how to
open my unripe jaw

I was 8 years old and my teacher
told me to speak more
that the words I had on paper
were too grand to be ignored.
- but I was too silent and too afraid
of all the mouths that would open
before I could whisper "Just wait."

I was 11 years old and my brain
spoke so loud it was screaming
at my tongue to move
but before I formed a syllable
but before my jaw opened
my raised hand was ignored.

I am 18 now and my heart
finds comfort in the secret familiarity
of bleeding what my brain cannot
release onto pages and pages
of blood
of sweat
of tears
of poems that mark the place of a girl
well beyond her years.

Do you still feel the smell of those flowers at night?
Do you still feel the same air passing through body?

Do you still hear my voice calling you?
Do you still hear those goofy voices I made to make you laugh?

Do you still remember the naughty things we did?
Do you still remember ringing doorbells and running here and there like crazy?

Do you not remember the snow fights wearing those blue matching boots and pushing and slipping in ice?
Do you not remember catching butterflies and then leaving them and planting roses and marigolds?

Do you not remember the matches we played in hot sun
with our skin tanned?
Do you not remember building castles and destroying them ?

Do you not remember making fun of each other and scaring?
Do you not remember stealing each-others ice-creams and saying sorry?

Do you not remember?

I remember I used to use it a lot more a long time ago. I would go up to any adult just start talking about the first thing that crawled into my infant head. I never lacked the knowledge or courage to start an interesting talk, but they told me to stop getting into other people’s conversations, so I stood quiet.

I used to have a great sense of sarcasm and a contagious shine that I always carried around. I would laugh my head off at every single thing I found funny, but they told me that I was being too loud, so I stood quiet.

They told me to always say the truth, and to keep their secrets. They told me to follow their orders, and to not answer back. They told me that they knew best and all along I stood quiet.
Just like that, they slowly cut my vocal cords one by one, and I stood quiet because I could not say anything wrong…

If I didn’t say anything.

As the years went by, my voice kept getting more used to being out of order. Its silence was so strong that I would have to force it to work when I was around them.
There was a point where they started uncomfortable with the absence of my voice, so they tried to make me open up to them. However, it was too late for that. I could no longer push my broken voice to do things it was not used to do, no matter how much I wanted it to.

They closed my voice, and I’m not ever opening it up to them again.

Be that as it may,

I don’t know, though, if my ears will be able to keep up with my voice.

The voice inside me is never heard
And it doesn't matter how loud it is
Even though I find this very weird
I have never told a living soul about this .

The voice inside me has a frequency
That's measured in some silent decibel
No matter how acute the emergency
No one ever hears a silent bell .

The voice inside me never sleeps at night
It rings in my ears and never stops
Even in my dreams I have to deal with it
Sad that I'll never hear when the pin drops .

The voice inside of me is a vindictive bitch
She doesn't care if I deserve some peace
Penetrating my soul like a surgeon's stitch
And disturbing my inner man with ease .

The voice inside of me is a perpetual arrow
It stays in motion and never slows down
Intoned mostly to my pain and sorrow
My voice is a storm that'll never be known .

The voice inside of me is a quiet storm
That will probably never ever be heard
But lives underground like an earthworm
That threads the earth's soil with its head .

The voice inside of me is my late mother's
A voice that continues to bless and inspire
A voice of wisdom I share with my brothers
A voice of a great woman to whom I aspire .

twitter @ivanclappers

Every man has a calling...coming deep from inside !
Myself 7d

I ran my fingers across the screen.
I tapped on the video of us, that I created.
It was a video with our favorite song.
Although there was more than one voice, and all the music,
the only thing I could focus on;
was your voice.

When you feel:









Who’s voice is it that


A couple of years ago, I had a therapist who asked me who’s voice I heard when I received intrusive, negative thoughts. It was my own. Realizing that opened my eyes to how harshly I criticize myself compared to others.

Within us, is a                                                          voice
that no one ever heard off.
A sound wanted to go                                          out
Yet its forbidden
and not allowed

For we are always ask                                         don't
Don't speak your mind.
It's what they always say
now you're silent
and you cant                                                                 be
someone you are destined to become

Still we continued to be silent
For we are                                                                     afraid,
Scared of what it can do
that's what on our mind

The little voice inside us
only wanted to be heard
Now we want  it to                                                       drown
into the abyss of nothingness
and stay in that void
for we are afraid of what others think.

Not knowing  its potential
it stayed there
stuck with all the other                                                    noises
Noises that always rendered
and deemed it as useless
Those noises kept you chained                                   with
the guilt of voicing it out.
Dragging you further down.

Creativity and all of                                                  your
wonderful imaginations
cant come out for its locked up
for you are                                                                   SILENT
and always afraid of what others think,
always waits for the approval of others.

Now you kept it all in
You will never learn to fly
because you wrapped your                                              VOICE
with fear and guilt.

Be strong always , its hard to voice out and its always a risk but its a risk worth taking.
Nuna Jan 7

i promise you i will walk these streets like i own them
if i have to, i will even go walk on the moon like my name is carved on it
i will no longer sink my head, or dreams
my echo will fill the halls that made me feel the smallest
i will speak up, use my voice to break the walls
dive through the  hate and grow love
(grow, love)
grow flowers inside each broken soul
water them with assurance that eventually things work out
i will help look for the pieces missing of your heart
i will give you what's left of mine
grab my hand
let's walk these streets like we own them

Your vocal cords
Please my body
As I hear the different tones...

Hearing you is so soothing
My heart is filled with bottled expressions
But once enlightened, feel amazing!

Your voice is just so...

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