My other side

I cannot dance or sing

I say things in a voice that does not ring

My voiced opinion is simply

shouts into oblivion

praises on the wind

I say things while realizing

We talk without listening to each other 


When I write

I'm no longer myself

I'm stronger

I become Mr. Hyde when I write

Dr. Jekyll is there

Somewhat scared

But still there.

I swing between personas

say what needs to be said

but never with humming vocal chords

always with scratches on paper.



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