With Her Voice

She walked up on stage.

Her chin up,

Back straight,

Body leaned into the microphone.

 

A deep breath,

And a stream of chills passed through the room.

 

It was the rhythm and flow of her voice,

The way she made a stream of words

interlock and weave so smoothly,

In a way I never knew it could.

 

Her words penetrated my ears, my heart.

She was not speaking;

she was showing me her world.

 

It echoed in my head,

It took away my breath.

Her soul into mines

And a break in time.

 

To say she inspired me

Is an understatement

Because it all started

With her voice.

 

She gave me one.

 

When my emotions overwhelm,

My tears spill out as ink on paper

My anger is the fire that burns through the words,

and its ashes blacken to ink as they land.

 

Poetry scars paper with emotion.

It scars so Emotion won’t scar me.

 

Poetry is my stress reliever,

A tightness reliever.

A taut string that loses tension as I put each word on paper,

My muscles

Loosen in my veins

From every word written down.

 

Poetry,

like a smile,

A voice,

A new world.

 

I have that voice,

And it is more powerful

than speech.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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