My Voice

I Hate the Sound of My Voice

I hate the sound of my voice,
but I can’t help but speak.

I have to cast my vision into reality
so that I can resonate with intention—
to do as I say,
and say what I mean.

Speaking is the catalyst
for all my dreams.
I drown in silence
until I can’t breathe…
so I have to speak.

I speak even when it creates controversy.
I speak regardless of what you think of me.
I speak
even if you think I’m being mean.

What you don’t always know
is that the sharp blades of my words
are performing surgery.
I cut into the eyelids—painfully—
so that you can see.

If bleeding can free you—or me—
of the toxicity of self-righteous judgment,
then I will cut deeply.

I hate the sound of my voice
because it booms loudly.
It cries in outrage
against oppression.
My voice is noisy
in her dissension.

She’s a pain in my ass
because she can’t be caged.
She’s gotten me fired
from too many jobs
because she can’t be contained.

No, wait…

I love my voice
because she taught me how to be free.
No one told me
that freedom is on the other side
of over-thinking
and heavy insecurity.

I love the sound of my voice.
Freedom comes
with haunting loneliness
as you learn how to confess:
yes, I did say this.

Freedom comes with battle scars
as you commit to your own integrity.
The integrity of authenticity
will always create
new friends
and new enemies.

I was born free—
until I became conditioned
to be a manufactured identity.

I smothered my voice
because I was told I was unwomanly.

Unwomanly
for daring to speak.
Unladylike
for saying what I meant
instead of always smiling sweetly in consent.

I love my voice
because she bitch slaps me awake.
She can’t even pretend to be fake.

She rips through the fabric of my inhibitions
with cruel compassion
as she reminds me that I am…
I am.

I am me.
Not you.
Not them.

I have a voice.
I will use it
with intention.

I love my voice
because I had to learn how to fight to speak.

Now,
no one
will ever
suppress me.