Untitled

My hand writing was so shaky when I first began As I grew older and older, it got stronger and stronger My voice grew stronger and stronger But as it roared and thrashed about The people stopped listening and started ignoring Stopped caring and started criticizing The projection of my voice became hushed I picked up a pencil; it was cool in my hand My words stood valiant against the cold white page I learned the fundamentals of writing The do's of syntax ruled my writing Until one poem I broke free, out of the mold The words flooded out The feelings vacated my heavy heart I felt alive Lifted This poem gave me a different voice The voice that couldn't be heard, yet understood by many The voice that couldn't be taken away because it was documented forever I found my hope, my coping mechanism I became my true self And my true self was untitled; free