in my pocket

I was once generous with my thoughts 

I didn’t like keeping them to myself 

So I passed them out like cupcakes at a birthday party, 

Thought they could feed your intellect the way it did mine  

But in due time, 

I was conditioned to hold onto the “personal things” 

Was told that they only matter to me. 

My voice still holds my opinions,  

But it rests in my pockets . 

I stuff my questions and answers so deep 

That sometimes the seams split 

My voice spits and screams for space.   

During the day it whispers, 

Tickles the nape of my neck when I listen closely, 

Murmurs of daydreams and endless possibilities 

When I close my eyes. 

During the night, my voice reflects my mind. 

It belts out the vile comments I dare not say in public, 

It is restless. 

Speaks when it wants to. 

Rubs against my thigh in annoyance. 

Asks me, why do you hide me? 

It grows weary at my empty responses. 

….I sigh. 

My voice once shined. 

It was brightly colored and smooth like stone, 

The medallion of my mouth. 

Now it rarely sees the light of day. 

I struggle to find the voice embedded in my jeans 

When I have something to say. 

I was taught that  

Whatever noise could escape the chamber of my throat 

Would not roll of the tip of my tongue,  

Would not part my lips into something powerful 

Would not move masses. 

Funny that I accepted this reality when 

My voice was once so brilliant that it left me speechless. 

Its laughter carved every line in my smile from scratch. 

Wait, scratch that. 

No more hiding. 

No more dragging my diction through the dirt 

Like I don’t know its worth 

The syllables that rumble in my chest 

Are my identity. 

Why should I suppress me? 

My voice deserves to see clear skies and sunshine, 

Openly support me on my rainy days. 

Loud, proud, bold, and beautiful. 

It belongs in the shamelessness of my mouth, 

Its most familiar place.