V.O.I.C.E

When nothing seemed to make sense, 

when talking couldn't do a thing, it was poetry that gave me a name. 

Pen and paper became my best friend; and so I wrote and wrote, because then and only then, it felt as if I had spoken.

Even though deep inside, I was broken. 

My peace, my drug, my love,

thats what poetry became. 

My narcotic for my pain, the melody to my heart beat, the yin to my yang, 

thats what poetry became. 

I was the bird that had a song to sing, although I couldn't move my wing. 

Poetry became my new pair of wings. 

Finally I had a voice, finally I could be free, finally I could be me. 

No longer invisible, but a voice.