Voice

My voice is an ocean of sentiments,
Spewing what cannot be contained.
My voice is the winds of a wildfire,
Spreading what cannot be tamed.
My voice is of color, my voice is a sound,
My voice is a girl that's been passed around.
My voice might explode, or shatter like glass.
My voice is the explosion that'll shatter my past.

Because all that I know, and all that I feel,
Is the product of a once key historical deal.
In the names of both liberation and peace,
A deal with the devil to hand over the keys.

My voice is yet to be let loose and set free,
My voice is yet to be defined as from me.

My voice is constricted, my voice is a plea.
It only gets louder because you refuse to see
That my voice is a voice and it needs to be heard.
Don't ignore what I say,
That's f****n absurd.

My voice is the hush of coffee shop talk,
Of rebels and revolutionaries,
The birth of a plot.
It echoes the beat of an ancestral drum,
Possessing the venom for colonial scum.
My voice is for those that give up that right.
So their children may eat and continue their fight.
But my voice isn't really my voice at all.
It's the voice of experiences both bigger and small.
It's for those who can't get up when they fall.
Whose choices are to obey or to have no choice at all.

The voice of a b***h, a w***e and a s**t.
The randi, the kaali, among royalty; the Mutt.
My voice is the Madrasi, the color of coal.
My voice is the blinding light of my soul.

My voice is my vice, my voice is my might.
My voice is the silence, my voice is my right.

Reviews

[Cole Thomas]

Every time you use the phrase "my voice", it's like a new person is speaking. I like it.

[...]

You got so many beautiful and creative voices here. Very charm and very open to any interpretation. Well done.