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A voice
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I find my voice in the words that come together with grace across the paper. A voice that I’ve worked hard to drown out with the help of blue screens and excuses. But I am louder than I can imagine. I am more than my past.

As I walk across the school playground, I hear the children screaming at the top of their lungs. They are small, half my size, and yet their piercing screams makes me crave for some Ibuprofen. The expression “use your indoor voice” comes to mind. We’ve been censored all of our lives to fit into the mold and not disturb the adults that are recovering from hangovers, bills, and life.

I want to feel sorry for myself. For not having the courage to speak for the first three decades, but that’s an oversimplification to the reality. I speak up every once in a while. A disparate symphony, “I deserve equal pay”, “I deserve to be treated better”, “I deserve to spoil myself”

But it’s the value system that I lack. The backbone of my voice to propel me through the noise of the trucks that want to run me over. What I look for in this paper is the concerted words that emerge through the patterns of time.

I write what I see in the mirror every morning. I look to confirm and sharpen my existence.

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