The voice I use to speak my words
Is different from the one I need to be heard.
I found my way to yell and shout
Through the written terms I cannot live without.
I am a writer;
My pen the hose to douse my heated fire.
The blank page designed to release
The extreme limits that I’ve reached.
Where there’s a will, there a way,
As they always say; a horrible cliché.
Though true as can be,
That statement does not define me.
I know who I am
Though so many claim that I am a sham.
But they are unaware
Of the person I am underneath their stare.
My ink is blue and black and red
And the passion that leaps from my heart and my head.
But do you think I’m bothered
By the way I speak? I’m awkward.
I am a poet;
Scrawling the emotions left unspoken.
I am Nikki on the out and inside
Full to the brim with poetic pride.
But, where there’s a will, there’s a voice
And where there’s a voice, there’s always noise
The way to be heard
The voice in my words.
I will always be able to speak my mind
Because my words can never be confined.
And I will yelp and scream and howl and shriek
Because my voice will never be tired and weak!