My Voice
As the curtain falls I take a deep breath.
Although the stage is my home,
This doesn’t feel right.
My voice doesn’t sing,
Or ring like heavenly angels.
Because my voice is thunderously loud,
But to me, its screams are shrilling.
My voice is anxiety
In all the senses of the word.
All my life a ghost has followed me,
Creeping up,
Waiting to hiccup.
My speech impediment left me,
But it remains deep inside my soul.
So when people talk
About how I talk,
I start to feel wrong
For being born a certain way.
They push and tug
But don’t worry,
My jeans aren’t ripping,
My soul is still the same.